A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes
by AllesandraQuartermaine
Summary: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes is now complete. Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: A Study In Pink takes place in at the end of January. The Blind Banker takes place on March 23rd to the 28th. So, there's January 31st, then the month of February (28 days) and 22 days of March of John and Sherlock living together. All together that's 51 days and nights of our favorite pair of men learning about each other. What's happened during those 51 days and nights? Well, lets pull the curtain back and see shall we? Here's my take on what took place.**

**Now fair warning, this is going to be a lengthy piece. I have no idea how many chapters it's going to be... one day could be several chapters, or one chapter. I'm just going with the flow.**

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride. Spoilers for A Study In Pink.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Moving In<strong>

**Date: January 31st. The First Day**

**Time: 2:30 pm**

* * *

><p>Ugh. Sun.<p>

He can't escape the bright light seeping into his brain.

Ultimately, John blinks his eyes open, and turns his head, trying to avoid the bright sun pouring through the windows.

This does not feel like his bed.

It feels like a sofa.

His heart starts to race.

Where am I?

He sits up quickly, not recognizing his surroundings.

"Afternoon," A deep baritone like voice rumbles from his right.

John blinks rapidly, trying to recognize the room and the voice and then suddenly everything crashes into place.

Sherlock Holmes.

Serial suicides.

Killer cabbie.

Sherlock about to swallow the pill.

Shooting the cabbie.

He shakes his head, as if getting the cobwebs out, and looks over to see Sherlock in a chair, on his laptop. Now he knows where he is. His heart calms down. Then something clicks.

No nightmares. Not one single nightmare.

Huh. He must have been quite exhausted. If that's what it takes to get through a night without those nightmares, then he'll start doing that.

"You were ready to pass out while we were eating chinese," Sherlock says not looking up.

"Adrenaline crash," John murmurs, rubbing his face.

"Most likely," Sherlock agrees. "Since you had not moved in yet, you fell asleep on the couch."

"What time is it?"

"Half past two."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," Sherlock answers, and then looks up from the laptop. "I let you sleep late, figured your body was not used to what I am."

"No, no it's not, that is for sure," John admits, setting his feet on the floor, and stretching his arms, wincing a little at the tightness in his shoulder.

"So, do you still plan on moving in?"

John thinks on that. The last twenty four hours have been quite... insane almost. "It depends. Will living with you always be like it was like last night?"

"Hmmm, not always. But it is to be expected."

John wonders what the man does on his down time, in between cases. Well, he'll have plenty of time to find out.

"Yeah, I'll be moving in..I don't have much in my bedsit, just some clothes and my laptop.. but everything else is in storage." John sighs. "That's going to be a trip."

"How far away are your things?"

John tells him the address and he watches as Sherlock taps it into his laptop. As he does, he hears a knock on the door, which is open and has Mrs Hudson standing there.

"Oh, good, you're awake Doctor Watson." she steps further inside and sets down what looks to be a hot cup of tea, and then places one next to Sherlock.

"Thank you," John says warmly as he gratefully drinks from the cup, the tea helping him wake. He notices that Sherlock doesn't drink it, his attention on the laptop.

"Your welcome dear." She smiles at him warmly, and clasps her hands. "So are you indeed moving in John? I do hope last night's events did not put you off. Sherlock could use a flat mate."

John notices the small smile that appears on Sherlock as the man moves his attention from his laptop to his phone.

"Yes, I plan on it, I just have to find a way to get all my things here. And no, it didn't put me off."

Mrs Hudson beams. "Well that's good. Trust me, you won't get bored living with Sherlock. He won't let you."

John thinks that is probably quite true and judging from the smirk that momentarily graced Sherlock, so did he.

"Well, now you two have your tea, I'll go back to watching the telly. You two enjoy yourselves," she pats John on the cheek, and he flushes a little. She pats Sherlock's arm and then leaves.

"John if you want to freshen up here, you can do so, or when you get back to your bedsit. You have two hours before Allied Movers gets to your storage space."

John blinks. "I- what?"

Sherlock looks at him, looking a bit annoyed about apparently having to explain himself. "I just arranged, " he holds up his mobile, "for Allied Movers to get your things, which will be in two hours. You'll have to meet them at your storage space. I imagine you would want to freshen up."

John just blinks at Sherlock, trying to keep up with this quick turn.

Sherlock frowns. "Really, John, are you always this slow when you wake up? Now you see why I don't sleep when on a case. Or eat. Slows the body and mind down."

Yes, John remembered that conversation. Sherlock also only ate a little bit at the chinese place they went to.

He rubs his face again. "Just had a lot happen in twenty four hours. Mind hasn't completely caught up yet."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose it would seem like a lot happened. Either way, everything is set to get your things moved here."

"Did it rather quickly."

"Of course. The longer you wait to move in, the more you may rethink about doing so. The more you rethink about doing so, you will end up changing your mind and I will have to find another flatmate. All rather bothersome." Sherlock says all of this without looking up as he's responding to a text on his mobile.

"I imagine you have to go to Scotland Yard to give your account on what has happened?" John asks as he stands.

"Already did so."

John nods and takes a couple steps forward, his leg buckling under him and he quickly grabs the desk near him to keep himself upright.

_It's in your head. In your head. You had no trouble running with Sherlock last night._

John lets the memory of running after that taxi run through his mind, forcing it to replay.

_"Hurry John! We're losing him!"_

John's leg straightens, and the phantom pain is gone.

"Next to my bedroom," Sherlock comments. "Past the kitchen."

John grimaces as he goes into said kitchen. Counters, table, everything has stuff on it. And none of it is food. A few boxes on the counters, evidently more things that Sherlock had not unpacked yet.

He goes down the small hall, passing a bedroom from the looks of it, although he doesn't see much and goes into the small wash room.

As he closes the door, John leans against it.

So, this is the beginning of a new life.

Have to admit, he much prefers this beginning compared to what the original beginning of his civilian life started out as.

Due to training, John doesn't take long in the shower. The hot water feels good on his body, and his shoulder does not ache for once. Normally it's a dull ache, reminding him of what happened.

When he's done and dries off, he's reminded rather unfortunately he doesn't have a fresh change of clothes, so he simply puts his clothes on from last night, telling himself he can change when he gets to his bedsit.

He walks out of the bathroom and walks carefully through the kitchen, before successfully getting into the main room without sending anything on the table to the floor. Sherlock was still there, engrossed on his laptop. John could see he is on his website.

Going over to the couch, he spots a few of his things laying down on the small coffee table. His wallet mainly one of them. And his gun. He grimaces as he checks it, noticing the safety was not on.

Bloody careless. He's unsure where to put it now, there's no proper space for it. John tucks into his backside, reminding himself when he gets to chance to by a case for it. Then opens his wallet and scowls at the contents.

He'll have to walk to the bedsit, as he won't have enough for a cab ride to the bed sit, then to the storage, then back here.

Have to get a job at some point...

"Ready, then?"

John starts, and sees Sherlock at the door, coat and scarf already on.

"Come on, grab your wallet. We can get a cab to your bedsit, where you can take care of matters there, then get to the storage."

"You-you're going to come with me?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Might as well. You don't have enough for all the cab rides, I have some money that will help with that. I have no cases, nor anything to do at St Barts that is immediately pressing, and nothing else to do. Well that is, except to make sure my new flatmate gets settled." He flashes a grin. "Come on." Not waiting for a response, Sherlock leaves, and it takes John a few seconds to regain himself before trailing after Sherlock.

Soon he's in a cab with Sherlock, heading towards his soon to be former residence. And trying not to feel uneasy being in a cab, what with the last cab they dealt with turned out to be serial killer and all. But it was obviously not affecting Sherlock, so he wasn't going to let it affect him.

With Sherlock's attention on whatever is on his mobile, John checks his own mobile, and sees a couple messages from Harry.

The usual messages. They've been the same since she and Clara split up. No doubt she's completely loaded at the time. John has no wish to talk to his sister like that. Conversations end up yelling matches.

"The media has been informed of what has happened, and that the killer was found, but dead, by the time he was tracked down," Sherlock announces after about ten minutes of silence.

"Really? How do you know?"

"One of my contacts just sent me the rough draft of the briefing he was part of," Sherlock holds up his mobile and John reads what's written there.

"You have reporters for contacts?"

Sherlock smirks. "And others."

John doesn't ask for him to elaborate. He just files this away as part of the Sherlock Holmes section he created in his head. He has a strange feeling it's going to have a lot of information, very quickly.

"How are they explaining his death? I mean being shot and all."

"No idea, not my problem." Sherlock comments, sounding bored about it already, thenglances at him. "You needn't worry though," he adds.

John took that for what it was. He was a little worried about his rashness, and while surprised he killed someone to protect the man next to him, someone he barely knew him, John also knew it was the only thing to do. Ultimately, the right thing to do.

"Are you mentioned? After all you helped."

"No, of course not."

John raises his eyebrows, and Sherlock glances back at him. "What?"

"Why not?"

Sherlock shrugs. "There's no need to mention me. Besides it'll hardly look good in the papers that I was brought in. I'm satisfied with helping, and the Yard has one less killer to worry about."

"But-" John protests, "but you helped, you contributed. You should get partial credit at least."

Sherlock shrugs. "I see no need."

John frowns. That's not right. As aggravating as Sherlock can be, and temperamental and a lot of other things John discovered over the course of twenty four hours, the man is still brilliant. If it hadn't been for Sherlock, more people would have most likely died. He should get credit of some sort.

"John. You're a soldier. It's going to take some time to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog of everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

"Nothing happens to me."

Well John can't say that anymore.

And right then and there, John decides when he has the time, he's going to write up the case.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you are all enjoying this. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: A continuation of the first day of living with Sherlock. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Do not sue.**

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes **

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up. **

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others. **

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

**Date: January 31st, Day Number One Continued**

**Time: 3:30 pm**

* * *

><p>It didn't take long to sort out the situation with the bedsit once John and Sherlock arrived. Of course John was not surprised Sherlock did not help with the packing. He had entered John's bedsit, looked around for all of fifteen seconds and then declared "Dull. Let me know when you're done," and walked out.<p>

John figured Sherlock didn't go very far. He imagines the man can keep himself occupied deducing things about the other people that come and go from this building.

As he is packing his clothes, he catches sight of his calender. And looks down to see that his next meeting with his therapist is tomorrow.

John sighs, and wonders if he can just cancel all his meetings, or... if he might continue to need them. Either way, he has something to talk about, Sherlock, when he sees her.

John packs his laptop in his other suitcase, properly protected, and grabs what ever else he can that he doesn't want to leave behind, as it'll save him from spending money he doesn't have. He picks the lighter suitcase up with his left arm, and has no trouble with the other suitcase.

He sets them down, and turns to shut off the light and close the door. He pauses however as he looks around the non personal, empty like room.

This is his last chance.

Tell Sherlock he changed his mind.

Unpack everything.

And stay.

Dull. Boring. Where nothing will ever happen to him.

His limp would definitely return.

And he would never have anything to write about.

And he wouldn't have to navigate literal possible minefields with a eccentric and mad flatmate.

Just continue living a dull life.

_I don't think so._

John turns the light off, and shuts the door, the feeling of one chapter in his life closing.

"Ready, then?"

John looks down the hall to see Sherlock walking towards him.

"Ready," John bends to pick up his suitcases, and joins Sherlock. "Have any fun?"

"Five alcoholics, three gamblers, a junkie live on the floor below you. An adulterer, a couple university students, a pathological liar, and a recently divorced man live on what is formerly your level."

John's curiosity gets the best of him. "How did you know that?"

"Which part?"

"The last two," John supplies.

"I spoke to Bridget Passer for just two minutes. In those two minutes she told me she was a former rock star, now a private detective who just finished solving a breath taking case where she was nearly killed three times and she just got out of the hospital with the latest attempt. Not to mention she is also wealthy. Considering there are no bruises on her skin from what she detailed of the last attempt, and her eyes are constantly shifting, plus the tell of her curling her hair around her finger, and the effort that each lie passes over her lips, plus the monitoring bracelet on her ankle, I doubt very much anything she said was the truth, although in her mind it certainly was."

It took John a minute for his head to catch up to Sherlock's words. He speaks so fast sometimes it's hard to keep up. He wonders if that's how the Detective Inspector feels sometimes. Every time Sherlock ran through his deductions during the case, he was talking a mile a minute, as if he couldn't contain the words. If he speaks like that, what must it be like in his head?

"And the divorced man?"

"Lines on his ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, looking quite stressed, and when I looked over his shoulder while he was going through his phone contacts, he deleted one name, a woman's name with two last names- hence her maiden name and her married name, which she had hyphenated. Divorce is recent too."

"Could be a widow," John comments as they stop by the lift.

Sherlock smiles. "Sentiment, John. If he was a widow, he would still have his wedding ring on, and he would not be deleting her from his contacts. Remember, sentiment. Like your mobile."

John flashes back to the conversation in the cab on the way to Lauriston Gardens, Sherlock telling him how he knew what he knew.

_"Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her."_

"So he left her then?"

Another smile. "Yes. If she left him, he would still be wearing the ring and keeping her infromation. But since he left her, he must also have some financial troubles, since he's staying at a bedsit."

The lift opens on the lobby floor, and John remembers he has to talk to management, most likely pay a termination fee... "I have to take care of-"

"Already handled," Sherlock says abruptly.

"Wait- what?"

"Already handled. John have you woken up yet? You seemed to have no trouble following me yesterday, much better than most I might add."

At first the comment stings, but John forces it back, realizing that Sherlock was not insulting.. well sort of. He was just stating fact. But he was doing it in his own way. He pushes the sting away, knowing it was useless to feel that way.

"How has it been handled?" John asks as he follows Sherlock outside.

"Does it matter? It's been handled. All you have to do is pay the termination fee by the end of February and it will all be resolved. So one less task in your way, taking up your time to move in. Come on then, lets get a taxi, I doubt very much you want to carry those suitcases for long."

The taxi that Sherlock somehow manages to make appear, even though John _swore_ he didn't see one at all, stops and the cabbie helps John with his suitcases as Sherlock gets in. A couple minutes after John gets in, he gives the address to the cabbie and they are once more off.

"I was right," John murmurs, feeling a bit dazed now. "So was Mrs Hudson."

"About what?"

"Being around you is not going to be boring."

Sherlock chuckles, and looks up from his mobile, a genuine smile, like the one during their giggling fit after they chased the cabbie the other night, appears. "True. I have to say though, and this is rare mind you, you surprise me."

John raises an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Oh yes, and as I said, people do not generally surprise me. Oh now and then I'm off one one thing, like with your sister, but in general I'm not surprised."

"So how have I surprised you?"

"You didn't gloat that I was wrong about the gender of Harry."

John shrugs. "You saw the name Harry. Not Harriet. Easy assumption to make."

"Assumptions are dangerous to make."

"In some cases," John agrees. "Any other way I surprise you?"

"You didn't tell me to piss off after our conversation in the cab."

Ah. Yes. Where Sherlock laid out so many facts about John that he had observed from a brief meeting with him at St Barts. Laid bare about his sister's drinking habits, the fact that he has a therapist and a psychosematic limp... Truth be told, John was conflicted at what he was feeling at the time. Annoyed, upset, he was... but for some reason it didn't bother him after it sunk in. And truth be told it was brilliant. Even if he did feel a bit stripped at the time.

"Nor did you attempt to punch me, or end all contact with me. Plus, you willingly went with me to a crime scene, something ninety nine percent of the world that are not police would do."

And John had complimented him twice during his deductions about Jennifer Wilson. He could tell then he surprised Sherlock. The first time, when Sherlock looked at him surprised before Lestrade took his attention. Then:

_"That's fantastic."_

"You know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry, I'll shut up."

"No.. that's fine."

Sherlock even sounded surprised and pleased. Admittedly, it was easier to like Sherlock's deductions, easier to admire how the man's mind worked, when it wasn't focused on him and on someone else.

"Plus add onto the fact that I ended up leaving you behind at said crime scene when I was looking for the pink case, ended up getting abducted by my brother, and still came to the flat when I texted you. Logically, most people would forget they ever knew me by the time they finished speaking with Mycroft."

All right, John could see that. If the prior things hadn't put them off, Mycroft Holmes would. And John only been in the man's presence for... what five minutes maybe? A little more, no more than ten he thinks.

"Then you willingly sent a text to a murderer, even though I sensed you wanted to hit me a couple times-"

"I did," John admits,

Sherlock smiles. "And you continued to ruminate with me, making suggestions while I was thinking out loud-"

"Because Mrs Hudson took your skull," John interjected.

"Then went to Angelo's with me, and willingly got into a foot chase. Of course we all know what happened after that."

Yes, yes we do. A 'drugs bust', a revelation, Sherlock getting into a cab driven by a killer, Sherlock about to swallow that damn pill and John killing the cabbie, killing to save the life of a genius madman.

"And yet you are still willing to move in with me. Most people would say you are the insane one."

"Well I am seeing a therapist."

Sherlock chuckles, and oddly enough it sounds rough, like the two times he heard Sherlock laughing last night. The man obviously never laughed much.

"As I said, you surprised me."

"That's hard for you to admit isn't it?"

Another smile, this one a bit tight. "But I am."

"How much do you have in your storage?"

"Not a lot. About a dozen boxes. Won't take me long to unpack them either. Hopefully it'll fit in my soon to be bedroom."

"The upstairs bedroom is the larger one, so it should."

John blinks, and Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I would have expected you to take the larger bedroom."

"Hmm, really? Well, I didn't see the need for it. I don't sleep much, and when I do I tend to fall asleep on the sofa."

"How much sleep do you get?"

"No idea. While working a case? None, as I stated while we ate dim sum. When not working a case? Oh... a couple hours here or there."

The doctor in John winces. "That's not good. Nor your eating habits."

"Oh dear."

"What?"

"Looks like I have a flatmate that's going to harrangue me about my sleeping and eating habits."

"You should take better care of yourself, since you're the world's only consulting detective." John wishes he could take back the words the moment he says them, knowing he's sounding like a nag.

"I take care of myself just fine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock drawls, but there's an underlying sentence there.

_Don't push._

John wisely doesn't push.

"So do you really play the violin?"

"Yes. It was either learn to play an instrument or take up a sport," The disdain in the man's voice clearly shows John what Sherlock thinks of that. "Mycroft and I wisely took up learning an instrument."

John wonders what sort of instrument Mycroft plays.

"Any good?"

Sherlock's gaze meets his and smirks. "Very good."

Those two words makes John remember that brief conversation he and Sherlock had, before Sherlock asked him if he wanted to see some more trouble.

_"You're a doctor. An army doctor."_

_"Yes."_

_"Any good?"_

_"Very good."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: A continuation of Day One of John learning what it's like to be around Sherlock Holmes.**

**Disclaimer: Do not sue. I do not own any of the BBC Sherlock characters.**

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

**Date: January 31st, Day Number One Continued**

**Time: 4:15 pm.**

**Location: Storage**

* * *

><p>"Ah, we're early, good." Sherlock steps out of the taxi, wrapping his coat around him. "Gives you enough time to get your storage open so the movers don't have to w-" Sherlock cuts himself off as his mobile buzzes, indicating a text.<p>

John watches as Sherlock reads then responds back.

"Unfortunately, I cannot stay and keep you company though," Sherlock slips the phone back in his pocket. "Sorry, a matter needs to be attended to. I will of course make sure your suitcases get to the flat. I will see you later, John."

"Yeah, course," John murmurs, strangely feeling bereft moments later when Sherlock leaves in the taxi.

Everything seems.. quiet and still now.

It's like Sherlock took the noise with him. John preferred the noise. John turns and heads inside the lobby of the storage company, ignoring the bright yellow sign proclaiming the name.

"Can I help you, sir?" A woman asks as he enters.

"Ah yes, I need to get to my storage. I have a company coming to take it out."

"Right. Name please?"

"John Watson."

She nods and goes behind the counter to start typing on the keyboard. "Ah, found you. Just in time I suppose, your next payment was due in two days."

Ah well money saved. About time.

"Do you remember your space number?"

"Unfortunately no."

"Not a problem," she types some more into the computer, and then opens up a case, removing a key. "We have spare keys. Your on the first level, space number 6. Who are the movers that are coming? I'll let them know where to go."

"Allied Movers," he says quietly, and she nods. "Thanks."

"Your welcome, sir."

John nods, and heads towards his storage space. By the time he gets to it, the damn bloody limp is trying to come back in full force, so when he opens his locker and finds one container quite solid, he sits down.

The phantom ache starts to thrum, and John closes his eyes, letting the events of last night run through his mind once more. The more he remembers the running, the ache lessens.

_"Come on John!"_

_"This way! No, this way John!"_

_"We're losing him!"_

_"Welcome to London.."_

_"Call us if you need anything."_

_"Got your breath back?"_

_"Ready when you are."_

The ache is gone, and John opens his eyes and then notices two men standing there. How long had he been sitting there?

"Apologies. A little tired." He stands, and smiles as his leg does not buckle, the memories of last night strengthening his leg once more.

He lets the men into the storage, so they can start getting his boxes.

John gets out of the taxi, as it pulls up to 221B Baker Street, the Allied Moving truck right in front of him, and pays the driver. As he gets out he checks his wallet once more, knowing he'll have to check his account and most likely take out a little more, and hoping he can.

John uses the door knocker, hoping maybe Sherlock would be in, but when the door opens it's Mrs Hudson.

"Hello dear. Oh yes, I should get you a key. Oh I see the moving men are here. Come on inside, Doctor Watson.. Sherlock isn't with you, I see."

"No, he had something that needed to be taken care of. So he's not back yet?" John gestures upstairs as the older woman searches her pockets.

"Oh I don't think so, I haven't heard anything. But then he can be quiet at times... Anyway, here's the key," she hands him the key, and then holds the door open as the men start to haul John's boxes in.

"Where to?"

"Come on," John heads up the stairs, the key feeling warm in his palm as he holds onto it.

It's about twenty minutes before all of John's boxes are in his bedroom, along with his two suitcases. Which Mrs Hudson had to bring out of her flat. Apparently Sherlock did drop them off, but just left them at the landing, apparently his mind was too preoccupied to bring them all the way up to the flat.

Could have been worse.

He could have just left them outside where anyone could have gotten their hands on them.

As John unpacks his suitcases, setting his laptop on the large bed that dominates the room, he absently wonders what Sherlock may be doing... who he may be annoying now, where he may be racing to.. if he needs help with anything.

Suddenly his phone buzzes. A text.

John takes it out and opens it.

_All settled I hope._

_At the flat?_

_SH_

It's like he knows if you're thinking about him.

John quickly responds.

_Just got everything in._

_And yes._

"Doctor Watson?"

John looks up after he sends it to see Mrs Hudson standing in the entrance. "Yes Mrs Hudson? And please, call me John."

"Of course. Let Sherlock know that I had the lease redrawn, as it's needed with you moving in. Both of you need to resign it.. well Sherlock needs to sign it anyway. He didn't sign the original one."

"How long had he been living here before I came?" John queries curiously. When John first saw the place, he thought what he was seeing was rubbish from prior tenants until he heard Sherlock saying he went ahead and moved in.

"Oh he hadn't moved in properly by the time he brought you around, but he had agreed to move in about.. oh four days before. Somehow he managed to move in all this things without me seeing him. He's quite good at that, being quiet and stealthy. Of course makes it difficult for me to pin him down to sign the lease," she adds with a frown, but there is fondness in her words.

John realizes then, even when she's disapproving, like when Sherlock was happy about another serial suicide, she was still fond.

"Did he tell you how we met?"

"He uh.. mentioned, well he said he ensured your husband's execution," John says quickly.

"Oh yes, he did. Good thing too, otherwise he would have been freed. Nasty business, but I'm won't hash it all out. But Sherlock's such a dear.. he's exasperating yes, and of course temperamental, but he's a genius too, and all genius's are like that I think. He just needs someone to fuss on him, even if he ignores it half the time."

Such vastly different opinions of Sherlock.

Lestrade, in John's brief acquaintance of the man, seems weary, resigned about Sherlock. Hoping that Sherlock will be a good man one day, who will eventually out grow his apparently child like temper and attitude.

Sgt Sally Donovan, hostile. Refusing to see what Lestrade see's. Thinks Sherlock will one day be a killer, thinks he's a psycho path.

Mrs Hudson... Thinking he's a dear, believing him to be worth fussing over, fond of him, even when Sherlock snapped at her last night, not caring about his eccentricities.

Angelo... grateful. Willing to go to prison for the man. Not letting Sherlock pay for the meal.

How can one man bring out such different opinions in so many people?

And here he is, another one of those people.

And John's not entirely sure what his opinion of Sherlock is yet. It keeps changing.

"Well, I'm going to make some tea, again please remind Sherlock about the lease. I'm very glad you decided to stay Doctor Watson, I mean John," Mrs Hudson smiles widely. "And I'm very sure Sherlock is too."

John just smiles, and then turns his attention back to his phone. No return message from Sherlock. He sends another one though.

_Mrs Hudson had the lease redrawn. We need to sign it. Both of us._

_JH._

He sends it, and then rips open one box, revealing books, and some pictures. The one on top is of Harry and Clara.

Clara.

John reminds himself to look up Clara, to talk to her. He hasn't since Harry told him they were getting a divorce. He liked Clara, the few times he spent time with her. It was a pity Harry didn't know what she was losing.

John's phone buzzes, interrupting his train of thought and he looks down at the message.

_Boring._

_SH._

Well, looks like this is going to be the first hurdle John is going to have to go through with his new flatmate.

_It needs to be done Sherlock._

_JW_

He gets another response seconds later.

_Not interesting. You can sign for both of us._

_SH._

John lets out a short laugh, not surprised at this at all.

_I can't. Not legal. It won't take long. It won't hurt._

_JW._

He's arguing with a madman over texts. About signing a lease.

_Don't care. Busy._

_SH_

John just stares at the text for a moment.

_Busy with what?_

_JW_

It's a couple minutes later when he gets a response.

_Finish unpacking. Or you will never get it done._

_SH_

John takes the hint, he'll corner Sherlock face to face about the lease.

It's around six when Sherlock finally reappears. John had been sitting in the chair, debating about going through the channels to find something on the telly, when Sherlock's presence is heard, and then finally scene as the man does his burst like entrance. He doesn't seem to simply walk into a room, he makes an entrance.

Looking a little flushed as if he had been running, then gives John the barest of glances as he goes into the kitchen. John leans to his right to see what Sherlock may be doing and notices he puts something in the fridge, and then checks a beaker that has... red liquid in it.

He hears Sherlock mutter something, not sounding happy apparently about the color of the liquid.

"Everything all right?" John asks.

"Hmm? What, oh.. I suppose. Not going the way I expected, but perhaps it needs longer..." Sherlock comes back into the sitting room, taking a seat in another chair, checking his mobile as he does and then turns on his laptop.

"Your matter get taken care of?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't take too long. Finished unpacking?"

"Yes." John stands and then drops the lease that Mrs Hudson had him look over once he finished unpacking, in front of Sherlock. He signed it, thinking the terms were fair.

"And this is?"

"The lease."

Sherlock huffs. "Dull."

"But necessary. You had to sign leases at all the other places you lived in."

"Yes, and a waste of time as always. I read it, then I'm stuck with what is written in my head for days on end before I eventually can get rid of it."

"Well for Mrs Hudson's sake at least, read the lease and sign it."

"You're not going to let up on this are you?"

"Nope."

Sherlock scowls, and then sighs. "Very well then," he says, and of all things, sulks, literally sulks while reading the pages of the lease the that was drawn up.

A couple minutes later, it's signed and Sherlock shoves it towards him. "There, everything taken care of. All nicely legal."

"Such a shame," John says dryly, earning another smile.

**_End Of Day 1_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride**

**Chapter Four Word Count: 2,018**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4- Snippets from Day 2 and 3<strong>

**Date: February 1st, Day 2**

**Location: Therapy**

**Time: 1:30 pm**

* * *

><p>"What has changed in your life John?"<p>

John looks at Ella, his therapist and so many different thoughts pop up into his head.

_I moved in with a man that calls himself a high functioning sociopath._

Although now that he's had time to think about that claim, John's not sure if that is true.

_I moved in with a man that seems to be able to see everything, and see right through people in a matterof seconds. _

John wonders how Sherlock developed that skill. That ability.

_I shot a man to protect someone I only knew for a day. And I don't feel upset about it. _

John remembers the conversation with Sherlock, after the man got himself away from Lestrade.

_"Are you all right?"_

"Yes of course."

"Well you have just killed a man."

"Yes... that's true... but he wasn't a very nice man."

_"No... no, he wasn't really, was he? _

_"No, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."_

John clears his throat, pushing down the urge to giggle again as the image of that conversation plays out. Be inappropriate to laugh now. It was inappropriate to laugh then..

Far too much has happened to tell her.

"I'm not sure where to begin with that," He finally decides to say, sounding a bit bewildered to his own ears.

She smiles. "First, how about your leg?"

"Hmm?"

"You walked without a problem, and with the cane. What happened?"

"Mind over matter," John says, not sure how to explain it to Ella. He thought about mentioning Sherlock and what happened since he met him, but the moment he sat down, he wasn't so sure about that now.

"You're evading, John."

True. "It's a bit complicated."

"All right. Anything else?"

"I moved out of the bedsit. Moved in with someone yesterday."

"Good. A veteran like yourself?"

"No, no. He was not in the military. A former school friend, Mike Stamford, introduced me to him. He was at St Barts..." That reminds John to find out what Sherlock does there. He's not a doctor... and yet he somehow has access to a lab there. Maybe he got his degree in medical research?

So many questions...

"He's a bit eccentric," John blurts out despite himself, "but it's good. I don't mind. He's different from anyone else I have ever known."

"Different can be good. So some definite change then?"

"Definite change."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: 4:21 pm**

* * *

><p>"Doctor Watson."<p>

John looks up from his laptop to see Mrs Hudson coming into the flat with a couple bags from Tesco.

"John please," he reminds her again. She just smiles.

"Sherlock not in?"

John shakes his head. "I saw him briefly around nine this morning though."

"All right then. Anyways, I'll put these away. I ended up buying some food from Tesco's for the both of you. I doubt there's a scrap of food in here. Sherlock only seems to eat takeaway, and that's when he does eat," she sound so exasperated there.

John grins and watches her go into the kitchen. Despite her protest of "I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper," it looks like the woman can't help herself.

"But there needs to be food in here now, with you here."

"I'll do some food shopping in a bit Mrs Hudson, but thank you." John's stomach starts to growl then.

"Still such a mess," he hears her murmur. "It's always the brilliant ones mind you, they seem to love clutter."

John looks around the flat again. The cow skull on the wall with the headphones... the butterfly display, the several boxes with papers and such in it, bookcases filled with books.. he'll have to bring his books down as there seems to be some room for his. It'll give him some more space in the bedroom.

"Oh hello Detective Inspector," he hears Mrs Hudson greet, and John turns around in his chair to see the gray haired Detective in the doorway. The man gives Mrs Hudson a brief smile, and then focuses on John.

"Doctor Watson.. correct?"

John nods.

"Ah good. So I missed Sherlock have I?"

"He hasn't been in since around nine."

"Probably off somewhere, irritating someone," the Detective mutters.

"Can I help you with anything?" John asks politely. "Or do you have another case that you need Sherlock's help with?"

"Oh thank god, no, no case." The DI reaches inside his coat pocket, as he comes further inside, and hands John a piece of paper. When he gets a good look at it, he sees it's a cheque for £300. And he sees Sherlock's name as the recipient.

"I suppose I should add your name on here as well, as he brought you in on it," the DI muses. "Maybe with you, it won't get sent back to us or tossed out."

John frowns. "I thought he wasn't paid for his consulting."

"Who told you that?"

"Sgt Donovan."

_"You know why he does this? He doesn't get paid or anything..."_

"Ah well, he doesn't do it for the money, correct. But we still have to pay him," DI Lestrade says, sounding a bit grumpy. "He normally just sends it back to us or never cashes it."

"Ah, well I can hold onto it, but you don't have to make it out to me, just keep Sherlock's name on it."

"Nonsense. You might as well, he brought you along, you were involved, you helped," Lestrade insists as John's name is also. John tries to protest, but he's cut off once more. "Trust me, you helped, Sherlock that is. Take it."

John gives up the protest, knowing it's useless now. "All right."

The DI exhales. "Good. So you are moving in?"

"Moved in yesterday."

"Ah, good. Glad I didn't cost him a flatmate then. You seem sensible enough, he needs a little sensibility in his life. Anyways, I'm off. Good to see you again Doctor Watson."

John chuckles at the sensible part, but then frowns. He twists in his chair againm "What do you mean you're glad you didn't cost him a flatmate?"

The DI stops at the stairs and turns around. "Oh, I suppose most people who turn and run if they witnessed the police doing a drugs bust in the flat of someone they might be moving in with. A bit extreme I know, but as I said to him that night, I knew he'd find the case and not let me know."

_"You can't just break into my flat." _

_"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break in to your flat."_

_"Well what do you call this then?"_

_"It's a drugs bust."_

John remembers that quite clearly. He also remembers feeling disappointed, as the rest of the conversation revealed that Sherlock apparently did do some recreational drugs at some point even with his vehement "I am clean!" protest.

John doesn't doubt the clean part. He's a doctor. He's seen plenty of people high while in Afghanistan. What it can do to a body and mind. While Sherlock is quite skinny, he's clean.

"Sorry about that by the way."

"Hmm, oh yes, no worries. Well um, will I have to worry about any more drugs busts?"

The DI smiles. "Only if he withholds evidence from us."

Right. Looks like that's something John is going to have to keep an eye on.. that is if Sherlock brings him onto any more cases. The one with Jennifer Wilson may have been a one off.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**Time: 10 pm**

* * *

><p>"You can cash it."<p>

"Maybe split it? I shouldn't take all of it."

Sherlock doesn't look up from the book he's reading on the couch. "Not interested. Lestrade put your name on it, I can endorse it so you can cash it for your account. But I don't need any of it."

John blinks. "I don't feel-"

"It doesn't matter, John," Sherlock says sharply. "I don't do this to be paid. I do it for the challenge. Of course the idiots at the Yard don't seem to understand it."

"You won't take credit publicly for helping, nor you will take credit financially?" John tries to wrap his head around this. Sherlock came back to the flat about ten minutes ago, and pretty much flat out refused to have any part in the cheque.

"I'm not interested in credit. I'm interested in cases, interesting and challenging ones, that keep me from being bored, and in my experiments and research. Oh that reminds me, need to see if the brother was arrested or not." Sherlock sets the book down and takes out his mobile.

"Brother?"

"A prior case I was working on before the taxi case. Remember? You let me use your mobile to send a text."

_"Here, use mine."_

_"Oh...thank you."_

Just a simple thing... that quickly turned into an adventure.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**Date: Feburary 3rd, Day 3**

**Time: 1:15 pm**

* * *

><p>"Wait.. what?"<p>

"What?"

John shakes his head. "What do you mean you don't know who the Prime Minister is?"

Sherlock's attention doesn't move from his laptop. "I don't know."

"How?"

"Not important."

John shakes his head. "How is that not important? He runs the country."

"Dull."

"Dull?"

"Exactly. Not important to know."

"Yet you have three books on the subject of superstitions."

"That was research. Needed to know about superstitions. I had to buy the books because the internet was not giving me the proper data."

"A case I imagine?"

"Yes, the one I had solved when we met."

"Care to tell me about it? Something to do with a green ladder right?" John asks, as he recalls the text he read that Sherlock sent when he got back to the bedsit.

Sherlock pauses in his typing and glances over. "You want to know?"

"Yes."

"I have it on the website." He offers.

"But I'm not on my laptop, and you are here. Might as well tell me."

Sherlock looks a bit surprised, and John wonders if anyone has ever asked him to tell him about his cases.

"All right." Sherlock pushes his laptop away. "Pay attention now."

As Sherlock launches into the case, John settles in his seat, paying attention and listening closely.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: 5 pm**

* * *

><p>"Why do people post anonymously?"<p>

John glances up from the pan on the stove. After hearing about a couple other cases that Sherlock had, hunger finally got to him. He found some fish, with some help from a good Mrs Hudson, got some lemon and lime and seasonings. Since Sherlock insisted he take the money, he can go to Tesco's to buy some things.

He has a distinct feeling though once he does, that's going to be his job here for now on.

"What?"

"My website," Sherlock sounds annoyed. "Someone posted a couple anonymous messages and some ridiculous hidden message."

"Solved it yet?"

"Not interested. Dull. Boring. I created a new page for the website and put it up there. Anyone else can decipher it if they want."

"Hey Sherlock, you're not allergic to anything are you?"

"What, oh, nothing I'm aware of. Stupid Anonymous...He's been posting here for a while. One day we will meet... Lame. If I have to have a web stalker, can't it be someone with imagination?"

"Not everyone can be you, Sherlock," John murmurs as he turns the fish over.

"Pity."

"You would be out of a job then."

"Oh.. well then, I suppose it's good then, even if I do have to deal with a world with idiots."

"The sacrifices one has to make."

John smiles as he heard Sherlock laugh at that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I did some research, and consultants do get paid... so I did a rough guess on how much Sherlock would get paid, and figured that with how he is, he'd ignore the check, toss it, or send it back. And also checked to make sure two names can be put on the check. <strong>

**Also, the dialogue in italics are from the episode of "A Study In Pink" , and the hidden message and Anonymous from Sherlock's website The Science Of Deduction. They will have the " " on them, while current thoughts from John or Sherlock will not.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Previously: The last 4 chapters have detailed the first few days John has lived with Sherlock. Moving in, a therapy visit, a visit with DI Lestrade, and along the way John learns some things about his new flatmate.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5- Learning More About Sherlock<strong>

**Date: February 3rd- Day 4**

**Time: In the afternoon, not quite sure**

**Location: London, Coffee Shop**

* * *

><p>"So you're still living with him then?"<p>

John nods as the waitress sets down the biscuits they ordered, and takes a sip from his tea. Mike Stamford had called him, haven gotten his mobile number from Sherlock apparently, and asked if he wanted to get together for some tea.

John had nothing pressing to do. At the time he was reading about some of Sherlock's cases, and ignoring Harry's calls, and trying to figure out how to put the case with the cabbie into words on his blog.

John mentally twitches. Blog.

Maybe he should just get a journal and write in that instead...

"Well, glad it's working out. Sherlock's not an easy person to get along with in passing, I doubt he'd be easy to live with."

"So far.. no problems."

"Hasn't played the violin at two am yet has he?" Mike asks with a smirk.

"This morning, yes. But he warned me about that." Just not the fact that he plays at two am...

John hadn't been sleeping well last night.. nightmares, Afghanistan... It was too quiet, the flat was that is. Sherlock had skipped out around eight, and John just watched some telly before kipping off to bed.

Then he remembered waking up, stifling back shouts as the war receded from his mind. He heard noise downstairs, and knew without a doubt Sherlock must have heard his moans at least before he woke up.

Yes, excellent flatmate material he is, with PTSD and nightmares that will keep anyone awake.

John couldn't bring himself to go back to sleep, not wanting Sherlock to hear him have more nightmares, but then he heard the violin playing. And he knew at that time Sherlock was not exaggerating about his skill with the violin. The soothing music had helped calmed his mind, and somehow John was able to get back to sleep, this time with no nightmares.

Whatever problem that plagued Sherlock inadvertently helped John.

"So has he had a lot of flatmates before?" John asks curiously.

"I don't know. I just know he was muttering about breaking down and getting a flatmate. I asked him about it at the time, and he said that the place he was eying was a good place, but in able to afford he would need a flatmate. He sounded quite put out about the whole thing. Of course Doctor Rhyse didn't help matters."

"Doctor Rhyse?"

"One of the trainers. Sherlock and I were in cafeteria when we were talking. Rhyse and Sherlock don't get on, not since Sherlock told him his wife was having an affair with the postman, and how his life apparently was quite the cliche." Mike grins. "Then again not many liked Rhyse, so they saw this as just desserts."

John shakes his head, taking another sip. Sounds like Sherlock though. He's only lived with him for four days now, but he's getting a feel of the man. "What did Rhyse say?"

"Said that no one in their right minds would live with someone like him. Sherlock just took it face value, then told Rhyse that he needed to keep an eye on his daughter. I won't get int all of that, but later Sherlock admitted he knew he would be a difficult person to live with, and that it would have to take someone incredibly patient and tolerant to do so."

"That would definitely be the truth," John murmurs.

"Next thing I know, a couple hours later, you're walking right on by me."

_"Come on, who would want me for a flatmate."_

_"You're the second person to say that to me today."_

_"Who was the first?"_

"And the rest is history."

Mike chuckles. "Indeed. So you are getting on then?"

"Reasonably. He's quite the character... something new every day, and I'm not bored."

"I believe you on that."

"So, tell me, how does Sherlock have access to the labs in St Barts?" John asks curiously. "It's obvious he doesn't work for St Barts."

"No, no he doesn't. And I'm not sure how... all I know is that some sort of arrangement was made, with the head of Research. He's been there.. oh for three years now, I think."

"You two seem to get on all right."

"He seems to tolerate me, more so than the others," Mike admits. "Then again, I treat him with respect and I don't feel threatened by him. I'm perfectly comfortable with how I am, and he knows it, so he doesn't go out of his way to point things out about me."

"Unlike with Doctor Rhyse," John murmurs, or with Sgt Donovan and Anderson...

"Correct." Mike looks at his watch. "Nor do I have a crush on him, like poor Molly Hooper and so many other girls there that try without any luck to get his attention."

John briefly remembers the young lady that came into the research lab to hand Sherlock coffee. Something about lipstick..

"Crush on him does she?"

"Oh yes. Horrible one. And he knows it I think.. it's how he's able to get what he needs from the morgue."

Okay, John can see where the word sociopath can come in now. But.. it seems like he has tendencies towards sociopath, but not quite there.

Although why John is hung up on this, he has no idea. He's been bothered by Sherlock's diagnosis, but it's not his place to question it really, since he's not a psychologist.

"Blast," John hears Mike mutter and notices the man checking his watch. "Best be off. Thanks for coming by. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: Evening, around 7 pm.**

* * *

><p>John turns down the volume, silencing the shouting people, as he hears familiar footsteps. Only a few days living together and John has come to recognize Sherlock's footsteps.<p>

"Hello," Sherlock greets, as he comes in. "Anything fascinating on the telly?"

"Jeremy Kyle."

"Ugh, boring," he mutters.

"Not much else on," John admits. "And couldn't decide what else to do." He had stalled on his writing of the taxi case, and decided to put it off lest he get frustrated and decide not to write it.

Sherlock goes into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Beer?"

"Bought a couple."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"With an alcoholic for a sister, I would think you would shy away from alcohol."

John does his best not to clench his jaw at the mention of Harry.

_He's just commenting._

_Just commenting._

"I don't drink often, no. And I stay away from the heavy stuff."

Sherlock turns around. "I touched a nerve."

"Yeah."

He comes back into the room, and once again those cool blue eyes are raking over him, coming to whatever conclusions that pop up. The slender man frowns. "Mentioning your sister.. not good?"

John exhales. No point in getting upset. Not when he confirmed it at Lauriston Gardens. "Sorry, don't mean to be tetchy."

"You talked to her today."

"How...?"

"Your hand is shaking, and you're rubbing your leg... plus you're more irritable about the mention of her, when you were quite calm when I first deduced about your sibling."

John stares at the man, and then shakes his head. "Well, you were right. I did talk to her. If you call a five minute conversation being yelled at as talking."

"Drunk?"

"Halfway there."

Sherlock nods. "Change your number then?"

"That's your solution?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Only logical one I can think of. Change your number, she can't get a hold of you to yell at you. She'll learn to call when sober."

"Change your number a lot have you?"

"To avoid Mycroft?" Sherlock says, the disdain for his brother clear. "No point. He finds it out anyway."

"Suppose it's hard to hide from a man that can control CCTV."

"Understatement. Although don't you love his idea of concern for my well being?"

"It's a bit.. startling, yes."

"You're not the first you know."

"First person he kidnapped?"

Sherlock drops into a chair, turning on his laptop. "In regards to me. Lestrade doesn't know who he is, but he got abducted.. About a day after we met when I solved a case for him. Told me the next time we met that if he ever gets abducted again because of our association he was going to arrest me on accessory charges."

"They wouldn't stick."

"That's what I told him. He didn't care for it."

"No, I imagine not."

"How did your tea with Stamford go?"

The man changes subjects as quickly as one takes a breath. John doesn't bother to find out how he knew.

"Fine. Wanted to see if I was still living here, or if you driven me out."

Sherlock chuckles.

"Have you had any prior flatmates before?"

"I have had three all together. Longest one I had was six months, and that was because he was a flight attendant and hardly ever here. So technically we were flatmates for all of two weeks."

"What sent him packing?"

"He found a liver in the fridge."

"What, no eyeballs in the microwave?"

Sherlock smirks. "No."

"I found a couple fingers though," John says, figuring he might as well get it out of the way now. "Not sure what the liquid was. Left it alone."

"Good. It needs to stay that way for two more days before I check the results."

"Is this going to happen often?"

"Is what?" Sherlock asks as he types an address in Google.

"Am I going to be finding body parts in the fridge often?"

"You'll also be finding them in the freezer."

"Sherlock."

"What? Oh don't worry, I'll make sure they won't contaminate anything. But yes, I tend to bring home body parts for tests when I can't stay at the lab any longer."

John takes a breath. "All right."

"Is that going to be a problem? You're a doctor, you shouldn't be affected by body parts."

John's tempted to smack upside the head. "I'm more worried about them being in the bloody fridge."

"As I said, I take the proper precautions."

"Good. Oh there's some Bangers and Mash left over in the microwave."

"Leaving food for me now?"

"At least eat it Sherlock."

"Later."

John drops it there, figuring that he at least got some noncommittal answer about eating. He then decides to get an answer to a question Stamford didn't know.

"How did you get access to the labs in St Barts? And permission to get body parts from the morgue and such?"

"Who said I had permission?"

"You would have to get it, Sherlock. Otherwise you would have been banned from the premises at some point."

Sherlock grins and John sees amusement in his blue eyes. "Well, in the beginning I didn't have permission, and I was illegally using the lab. Didn't have access to the morgue at the time, and couldn't break into it to get access. But that changed about a month after I officially became a consulting detective."

"What happened?"

"The Head of Research caught me illegally using the lab, threatened to have me arrested. I gave her the number to Lestrade, and she locked me in her office while she called him from another. She apparently didn't want me to overhear. I took advantage."

"You snooped?"

"I snooped. She used my mobile to call Lestrade, so I found hers on her desk. Also I hacked into her computer. Found out through some emails, texts, and a couple of quick calls, she was paying a lot of money to have her husband followed. According to the emails and the quick chat I had with the private investigator she hired, she was convinced her husband was stealing from her and cheating on her, but couldn't prove it."

"What did you do?"

"When she came back in, having calmed down a bit after Lestrade talked to her, I offered her my services. I offered to get her the proof she needed, in exchange for getting permission to have access to St Barts."

John finds himself amazed at all this. The presumption, the nerves, the gall. All Sherlock.

"Did she take it?"

Sherlock grins, pride coming off him in waves. "Of course. She was intelligent enough to see that her incompetent PI was getting nowhere. It was obvious the husband was paying the PI to also not find anything. I found payments in his bank accounts traced back to the husband. Not only did I find the proof of him stealing thousands of dollars from his wife, I found undeniable proof of him cheating on her, with multiple women, plus add on the prize on top- he was also doing drugs. With that evidence in hand, she was able to divorce her husband and have the prenup nullified, so she wouldn't lose anything by divorcing him. I kept my end of the deal ,and so did she. A research lab of my own, and access to the morgue."

"Amazing. I mean seriously, amazing."

"Have to admit, a bit disappointed though. It was a lot more fun getting in illegally."

John bursts out laughing.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: The next few chapters will be on their way when I'm done with them. Hope you've all enjoyed what you've read so far. If you have anything to say, please do so! Reviews are like candy and keep me going.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Author's Note: I've put in a part of John's blog post of A Study In Pink, that part belongs to the creators of BBC, it's just in my story to help it along. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

**Date: February 7th, Day 8**

**Time: 1 pm**

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

* * *

><p>"Oh come on," John mutters as he stares at the blank screen in front of him.<p>

He had the taxi driver serial killer case all written in his head, but for all it was worth, he couldn't seem to get it actually written.

It was the beginning. How does he start it? He had the feeling that once he got the beginning out of the way, the rest of it will come easily.

John was never much of a storyteller. As a doctor, the stories that came to him were from the bodes of his patients. Their bodies could tell him so much more about the person than the patient could.

A soldier that comes in with a bullet wound on the leg... would have other marks on his body as John worked on him. A knife wound on the leg, a burn on the right arm, permanent bruising on the side. Each bit told him a story about the person on the table in front of him, ready to be healed.

Writing something out himself is a different matter all together. All he's ever written on mostly were medical charts. 

"Still struggling, dear?"

John smiles as he hears Mrs Hudson come in. "It's the beginning that's struggling."

"I imagine so. I bet every writer can tell you that. The endings are easy, it's starting that's the hard part."

"Indeed."

"Sherlock not in again of course. I got the mail by the way, I'll just set it down on the table."

"Thank you Mrs Hudson."

"Not a problem. I'll stop bothering you then, let you get on with your writing," She says and he can hear the fondness in her words without turning around. It seems somehow he found a way into his landlady's heart.

"You're not bothering me."

"If you say so dear. Oh, just to say, I remember an article that featured a writer, who said when sometimes the best way to start is to talk about the person that's featured in the story. Just a little something about them."

John hears her footsteps go down the stairs, and his mind whirls about on that comment.

A little something about the person?

John racks his brain, going over what he written mentally, and realized a lot of it was about Sherlock. Of course it was, this was Sherlock's life, just a part of it, that he was witness to at the time.

John glances back at his blog and then notices his first post about Sherlock.

About meeting him.

A Strange Meeting.

Bumping into Mike Stamford.

Meeting Sherlock.

And then subsequently learning what the man can do.

John then remembers a few other conversations he's had with Sherlock here and there the past few days.. when Sherlock was home that was.

John then remembers a few other conversations he's had with Sherlock here and there the past few days.. when Sherlock was home that was.

This morning he asked who the Prime Minister was. Which again surprised John, since Sherlock did say a few days earlier he didn't know who it was but John figured that due to his reaction Sherlock would go find out. He didn't however, and somehow during the morning they got onto the topic of politics again.

"Strange," John murmurs to himself. "He knows some of the most obscure things, but ask him something about Astronomy, and you get a blank look."

That was another thing that surprised John about Sherlock.

John had been watching a show in the mid afternoon when Sherlock made an appearance. He glanced at the telly and then just went about searching on his laptop.

Sherlock made a comment about the show, remarking about something he didn't know.

That nearly shocked John, the man admitting he didn't know something, then again he was secure in telling him about his lack of knowledge on politics, so John just asked him to clarify.

"That the earth went around the sun," was the next few words that came out of Sherlock's mouth.

John grins as he recalls being stunned at the time. He didn't have time to respond to that as Sherlock apparently found what he was looking, let out a cry of "Brilliant!" and then was off again.

John shakes his head as the memory passes.

The earth going around the sun... that was primary school stuff. Did he not pay attention in school?

For all the things that Sherlock can do, and knows, he can be spectacularly ignorant about other matters.

And the kicker? When John talked to him about it later, Sherlock just shrugged it off.

"Dull. Boring," was all he said.

It did not matter to him.

John stills as he looks back at his open blog post.

And the words come to him.

_**I've blacked out a few names and places because of legal matters but, other than that, this is what happened on the night I moved in with Sherlock Holmes.**_

_**When I first met Sherlock, he told me my life story. He could tell so much about me from my limp, my tan and my mobile phone. And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.**_

**_This morning, for example, he asked me who the Prime Minister was. Last week he seemed to genuinely not know the Earth goes round the Sun. Seriously. He didn't know. He didn't think the Sun went round the Earth or anything. He just didn't care._**

John pauses. He feels a little out of sorts writing it, wondering if Sherlock would dislike him putting this out there.

But then he doubts very much Sherlock would read his blog. He knows he's writing a blog, but that's it. And it's not like millions of people read his blog. So it could hardly affect Sherlock could it?

John pushes the worry aside and continues to type.

_**I still can't quite believe it. In so many ways, he's the cleverest person I've ever met but there are these blank spots that are almost terrifying. At least I've got used to him now. Well, I say that, I suspect I'll never really get used to him. It's just, on that first night, I literally had no idea of what was to come. I mean, how could I?**_

Indeed.

John smiles, finally feeling the story flow through him, and he starts to write out the rest of the case.

It's about an hour when he finishes, and just as he posts it to his blog, he hear's a knock on the door behind him. He turns around in his chair to once again see Mrs Hudson and someone else, a woman with black hair and sharp green eyes, about the same height as Mrs Hudson, and dressed quite smartly.

"Sorry to interrupt dear, but you didn't hear me calling you."

John grimaces, he doubted he could have heard anything he was so engrossed in his writing.

"That's all right dear. Ms Tavington is here to see Sherlock but it seems he's out."

"Ah yes, he's at St Barts."

"Any idea when he'll be getting out?" The woman in question asks in a clipped tone, sounding like she was from Cardiff.

"No idea, sorry. But hang on," John picks up his mobile to text Sherlock. He hopes that Sherlock will respond quickly and not take two hours like he did last time John had to tell him something.

_Visitor here for you. Ms Tavington._

_JW_

"I'm not sure how long it'll take for him to respond," John adds, looking up. Mrs Hudson was no longer there, but Ms Tavington still is.

"He can be a bit hard to get ahold of," she says with a slight smile, not stepping inside fully.

Luckily it's only about a minute before John gets a text back.

_File under my laptop._

_SH._

John surmises that he's supposed to give her the file. John gets up from his seat and goes over to the coffee table by the couch where he sees Sherlock's laptop and picks it up, and he sees a bland looking manila envelope with the name **_Marian Tavington_** written in Sherlock's sprawling handwriting.

He picks it up, giving it to Ms Tavington. "Here, he said to give you this."

She takes the envelope and opens it, taking out a sheet of paper and reads it. As she does a smug smile appears and she looks over the rest of the contents briefly before putting everything back in and resealing the envelope. She's inordinately pleased. Whatever Sherlock gave her.. she's happy with it.

"Fantastic. Thank you-"

"John Watson."

"Thank you Mr Watson. Let Sherlock know if he needs anything he knows where to find me. And he won't be charged. He has my information."

"Of course."

John watches as he heads down the stairs, his own curiosity burning despite him. This had to be one of Sherlock's cases. While he was a consulting detective for the Yard, John figured out he took on cases from others who needed his services, people who did not want to involve the police and wanted things done quickly.

So while Sherlock didn't care for the words private detective, and preferred consulting detective (the only in the world), John quietly tacked on the word private in front of consulting.

Then again Sherlock wasn't an ordinary consultant. Even consultants or private detectives don't see things the way Sherlock does, can't figure out things in the way that Sherlock does, or think in the manner that Sherlock does.

So despite his job being truly a private consulting detective, how Sherlock performs his job, he truly is the only one of his kind.

John picks up his mobile and texts Sherlock again.

_Ms Tavington seems to be happy. Says if you need anything from her, no charge._

_JW_

**It's about a half hour later as he's watching telly, when his phone buzzes with another text.**

_I don't have a driver's license. So no point._

_SH_

John's curious now. He has a license to drive, but cars are expensive and he can't afford one of course.

Before he asks the inevitable question Sherlock is most likely expecting, John turns to his computer and and opens the Google search engine, typing in Tavington.

He soon sees the familiar image of the woman who had just left and notices that she has a car company that caters to the wealthy.

One article states that there were some rumors of a power struggle and some financial issues going on.

John has a feeling now that those rumors just got taken care of. He clears his search, then picks up his mobile to text Sherlock.

_Why don't you have a driver's license?_

_JW_

It would be a lot less money spent on cabs if Sherlock knew how to drive.

A few minutes later, John gets a response.

_Have you seen how those idiots drive?_

_SH_

John raises an eyebrow, and then remembers nearly getting hit, almost twice on his first trip to Tesco's from here. He was always a careful driver, however, but he does understand what Sherlock means.

_You have a point._

_JW_

A minute later Sherlock responds.

_Of course I do_

_SH_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

**Date: February 10th, Day 11**

**Time: 5 pm**

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

* * *

><p>John comes up the stairs, with a bag from Tesco's in one hand, his bloody cane in the other.<p>

He stops at one stairs, and stares down at offending cane.

Mind over matter.

Sometimes mind over matter didn't like to work.

John's day was a bit irksome. He woke up, and ended up nearly tripping into a wall over Sherlock's instruments on the floor in the kitchen, and with Sherlock apparently already gone, John couldn't yell at him. He felt comfortable enough now to do so, yet he learned it generally went right over the tall man's head.

So, he went into a cleaning binge of sorts, tidied up some of the clutter until he went to see his physical therapist, which of course brought out that blasted limp. Before he even left the door, and the memories of what happened with the taxi cab case didn't really help. So he had to use the cane.

Thankfully it was his last scheduled mandatory appointment. Too bad that couldn't be said for the therapy with Ella.

Final prognosis on his shoulder was good. John didn't want to think about the details of it really, he was just happy to hear the word "good".

But his mood went back to sour with another call from Harry which he wanted to smack himself on the back of the head for answering. She was sour about the fact that the only time he talked to her was when she commented on his blog.

He bit his tongue on what he wanted to say to that.

How can you tell your drunk of a sister that she's more tolerable through comments on a blog? And even then he has to tell her to watch what she says.

The call ended quickly on John's part. He ended the call right before she could launch into whatever drama she had going on today, and then shut his mobile off so he wouldn't have to deal with her calling back.

He finally got back two hours ago, found the fridge empty, and wanted to send some curses to Sherlock for his early am snack attacks. The consulting detective didn't eat when on a case of course, but even when he wasn't he was much better but apparently gives into his hunger during early mornings when no one could witness.

And of course the brilliant but lazy man didn't bother to do the shopping.

Ten days of living together and John has come to the conclusion he was going to end up doing all the food shopping.

He wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

John heaves a sigh, and resolutely makes his way up the rest of the stairs, damn his limp and all. When he enters the side the door to the kitchen, he hears some noises when he glances into the sitting room, he sees Sherlock, sitting in one of the chairs, going through items in two boxes, muttering to himself.

New case possibly?

Oh he hoped so. John got a glimpse into how Sherlock can start acting when he doesn't have something to occupy his mind, when his experiments and constant research can't make the boredom go away.

For the past couple of days Sherlock had been in a right mood, almost foul, and the few times he spoke he was snappy and surly, even more so than usual.

The possibility of Sherlock no longer suffering from boredom and having a new case makes the phantom ache in his leg start to dissipate, and he sets his cane against the wall next to the fridge.

"Everything all right?" He calls out, starting to open the fridge. However he pauses, steels himself for whatever else may be in there, and opens it.

Ah. Nothing.

And no answer from Sherlock he realizes when he finishes putting away the milk and food. He goes into the living room to see Sherlock with a stack of papers in his hand, reading each one.

Has to be a case.

The ache is almost gone, and he's able to walk without the cane into the sitting room and takes a seat, moving the pillow with the union jack on it. He spies the other box and getting a closer look. A dozen black roses with a red string wrapped around it, a box of chocolates, and a few open jewelry boxes.

"Sherlock?"

"What is it?" He asks, apparently hearing him this time, scowling at the paper in his hand and then shoving it under the others, reading the next one.

"Case I take it?"

"Yes."

John waits, expecting a flood of words to come out, but nothing happens. Not automatically. Deciding to look into what this about himself, he reaches down to pick up the box of chocolates he sees-

"Careful not to hit the thorns of the roses," Sherlock warns.

"Why?"

"I tested them. They were dipped in the venom of the Fiddleback Spider. I do not think you want to go to the hospital, yes?"

John carefully takes his hand out of the box, making sure not to brush it against the roses.

"Fresh too. Roses were delivered while I was there... And besides I doubt very much you would have wanted the chocolates. I tested three pieces. All had arsenic in them."

_Bloody hell.._

"So far nothing on the jewelery. Those were delivered far earlier, same time with the majority of these letters."

"Someone trying to kill your client I take it?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock says in a tone indicating he was liking this case too, and was definitely not finding it dull or boring. "She thinks it's someone in her circle, as all of these have been delivered to her home address."

"And no one has access to that information?"

"Hmm? No. She has two addresses. One for fans, one for herself. Her inner circle are the only ones who know."

"And she has not brought the police in?"

So someone who is famous, or at least in the spotlight has come to Sherlock about attempts on her life.

"The letters?"

Sherlock hands them over to John and after he reads just one he gets the idea clearly.

"The letters were first?"

Sherlock nods, going over another one. "Each letter is a week a part. Each one gains more of an intensity, signalling the stalker is getting more and more desperate."

"She didn't go to the police?"

"She does not want it public until it is taken care of. She does not trust them to keep it quiet. She wants it solved and quickly, so she can leave her house. She also wants this solved before she starts a three month tour in the States. She took a bite of the chocolates when they arrived a week ago. While there is not much traces of arsenic in each chocolate, she unfortunately had quite the severe reaction to the arsenic. She barely survived the experience. When the roses came with a sympathy card at her home, she then contacted me. " Sherlock tosses the letters in the box, running a hand through his hair.

"Because of course the incident stayed quiet," John murmurs, "so how could anyone on the outside know?"

Sherlock doesn't answer the question, John didn't expect him to.

"The letters are written by a man. The style is heavy handed, the words leaning to a male identity. Also they have a mens cologne scent on them, but it is faint enough I cannot name it." He waves his hands to the gifts. "But the poisoning methods on the roses and chocolates, it is the hand of a woman. Women statistically tend to use poisons."

"So you may be looking for both then, two people in her circle," John suggests.

Sherlock shakes his head. "She does not have any women in her circle. She has nine men that surround her. Two bodyguards, they are discounted because it is hardly good business practices to stalk and kill the person you are protecting," Sherlock says dryly, and John smiles at that. "Then there is her publicist, her stylist, her housekeeper, her two brothers, her son, and her dog-walker." Sherlock pauses. "Well I suppose I should rule out the son. He is only eight years old and his obsession is video games."

"If you go by those American shows, the kids turn out to be the culprit."

"Because the writers of those shows have no imagination," Sherlock says impatiently and gives him a look. "So I implore you to use some of yours which must be lurking in there somewhere unless it was trained out of you."

John ignores the dig.

"So what about the brothers?"

"Dull. They don't seem to have the imagination to be able to think this up."

"Well then there's another two down then. So you got it narrowed down to her publicist, stylist, housekeeper and dogwalker." John frowns. "Any way you look at it sort of makes it come out cliche."

"True," Sherlock rumbles. "Oh where are my nicotine patches? I need to think." He gets up from his seat and strolls out of the sitting room, through the kitchen and down the short hall to the bathroom. Moments later, John hears Sherlock groan.

Ah, must be out.

He hears the sound of something being tossed out and then Sherlock comes striding back into the sitting room, pacing the floor.

"Perhaps he got a woman to do the roses and the chocolates," John suggests after a couple minutes of spinning things around in his mind. "A girlfriend, or a wife."

"None of them have time for a relationship, they all said it quite bluntly and matter of fact. She keeps busy, so they are busy. None are married either."

"Who's come into her life recently?"

"There's got to be something-" Sherlock mutters, then stops and stares at John. "What?"

"Who's come into her life recently? I think I read somewhere that sometimes stalkers will at one point insert themselves into their target's life."

Sherlock cocks his head slightly, looking at John, but John realizes not quite looking at him. Thinking. Wheels are turning.

"Eric Driver," he murmurs. "The dog-walker." Sherlock frowns then. "Well, he came back into her life recently."

"Came back?"

The dark haired man nods. "She had mentioned that Eric took his old job. He was her primary dog walker for two years, then left for medical reasons in 2006. Came back to England in 2007 and came back to work for her five months-" Sherlock's eyes widens then he staggers slightly, clapping his hands together. "OH!"

John flashes back to the old building with Jennifer Wilson's body, when Sherlock was going off about the suitcase, and then realizing at the time it was pink. He just hit something.

"Of course! Why didn't I see that earlier? It was so easy to see!" Sherlock does his spin as he grabs his coat and scarf. "But why? What changed? What did Stacia do to make him-" Sherlock cuts himself off again and his eyes widen again as if he hit something again. "Ohhh, clever, clever... but need to confirm, definitely need to confirm first, and then I will know for sure!"

With those last words, before John can even have a decent reaction, Sherlock is gone from the flat.

John scowls at his delayed reaction time. He used to be much quicker than this, better reflexes too. If he had been this slow in Afghanistan he would probably be cold in the ground.

His instincts kicked in during the taxi case, but they've been dulled a little after ten days of living quietly.(Well as quiet as one can be when living with Sherlock Holmes)

Well, no more of that. He was going to have start anticipating Sherlock's responses before they happen, especially when he's working a case. When that moment of clarity happened, John knew he should have been up and had his coat on.

So, next time, he was going to do just that. He wanted to be with Sherlock when he went off on those crucial moments, because he needed someone to watch his back. That was clear.

He just hopes that all Sherlock does is confirm what he thinks he knows.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Feedback Please! It makes everything better.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<br>Date: February 10th, Day 11 Continued**  
><strong>Time: 9 pm<strong>  
><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

* * *

><p>John was getting worried.<p>

Sherlock had left four hours ago to confirm what had popped into his head.

John was thinking that Sherlock was now doing something else entirely, that was not a benefit to his health. The man wasn't answering his mobile, by text or otherwise.

Since he didn't know where Sherlock ran off to, he couldn't search or place any calls.

Was this how Mycroft felt?

_"Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."_

_"Why?"_

_"I worry about him. Constantly."_

John was beginning to understand that.

If he had a brother as impulsive, as potentially destructive, and running around London trying to catch murderers, he would probably worry like Mycroft.

Just not in Mycroft's way.

The soldier and doctor, two different sides of John, were conflicted about Sherlock. Sherlock himself is a conflict.

John remembers Lestrade calling Sherlock a child, and John sees it. An adult with a child like attitude and temperament. Add in a lack of self preservation, no social or common sense filter, an obvious genious IQ with an unusual mind, an arrogant superiority complex combined with an addict like personality and you have...

Well, you have Sherlock bloody Holmes.

Only ten days and John has seen a good amount to get somewhat of an understanding of the complicated madman he's living with.

John starts as he hears a ring, and looks down at his hand holding his mobile.

It takes him a second to realize what's going on. He looks at the screen, does not recognize the number, but he answers anyway.

"Hello?"

"Is this Doctor John Watson?" A throaty full feminine voice says on the other line.

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Stacia Desmond," she answers. "Sherlock told me to call you."

"Is he all right?" John asks quickly.

"He's fine. But can you come get him? He's giving the medics an awfully hard time."

"Address?" He asks, the doctor in him waking up at the thought of injuries. He'll find out what happened later.

Before he leaves, the soldier in him tells him to get his gun.

Just in case.

* * *

><p><strong>Time: 9:45<strong>  
><strong>Location: Downtown London<strong>

* * *

><p>John pulls up in a taxi, and a familiar sight is before him.<p>

Police cars.

An ambulance.

A big building, but this time instead of a college, it's large home.

John gets the cabbie to agree to staty, and walks up to the barrier that the police have put up. In the distance he sees Sherlock arguing with a medic. But from this distance he can't make out any injuries. Next to Sherlock is a woman with dark red hair and about a foot shorter, who is looking quite amused.

She must be Stacia Desmond.

"Doctor Watson?"

John turns his attention from Sherlock to.. well, Detective Inspector Lestrade. He smiles slightly at the DI, and notices in the background Sgt Donovan going inside the house.

"Detective Inspector."

The gray haired Inspector sighs. "Mind taking him off our hands? I already got the statement." He moves the barrier out of the way. "Go on. Please take him."

John nods, and walks briskly over to the ambulance just as Sherlock throws off the shock blanket.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I am not in shock!" Sherlock snaps impatiently as he runs a hand through his hair. John's doctor side comes into place, and notices some swelling on his cheek and his right eye, plus a couple cuts, one on his right brow, another on his swollen cheek.

"I can take him off your hands," John announces and Sherlock spins to see John.

"Ah, see, he's here," Sherlock says with a tone of finality to the medics. "I told you he was coming. John is a doctor, and is a capable one."

"I am a doctor, and I can see to him. I promise to take him to A&E if any problems occur," John says authoritatively as Sherlock turns his attention to the woman beside him.

The medics after a few moments cut their losses and nod, apparently thankful they no longer have to keep up the argument.

"Thank you Mr Holmes," John hears Stacia Desmond say and he turns his attention to the pair. "I appreciate it."

"Your welcome Ms Desmond," Sherlock flashes a smile at her and then turns to John. "Off we go?"

"Yes," John says tightly, getting a raised eyebrow from Sherlock, and then he smirks, apparently amused by John's tone of voice.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>  
><strong>Time: 10:30<strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you satisfied, <em>Doctor<em>?" Sherlock says with heavy sarcasm as John finishes cleaning up the cuts on Sherlock, and goes to his med kit for the antibiotics.

"You don't have a concussion, so small favors," John mutters as he glances at the swelling around Sherlock's right eye. "Nice hook though. That is going to be a pretty color in the morning."

"He took a cheap shot." Sherlock says, sounding annoyed.

"So care to tell me what happened?"

"Are you going to be angry the entire time?"

"Just tell me."

Sherlock sighs. "You won't appreciate it while angry, and it's such a good story to tell."

John refuses to smile at the child like complaint. "I'm not angry."

"You're upset."

"I suppose you can say that." John eyes the cuts, which are now clean and he has a better look at them. "But we can discuss that later. Tell me what happened."

"Eric Driver was Elaine Driver before he left to go the States for transgender surgery," Sherlock announces.

"Lean forward, elbows on legs," John instructs, which Sherlock does also automatically and he starts to place the antibiotics on the shallow cut above the brow. He hears Sherlock hiss a little. So far John's a little surprised Sherlock's letting him do so and isn't arguing. "So Eric Driver-" John prompts.

"Was a woman up until 2007. When he was Elaine, he was Stacia's dog-walker. But feeling unappreciated because he was female, it was the push to get him to finally have his gender reassignment surgery."

"So he was responsible then for the poisoning of the roses and the chocolate, plus the letters? Turn your head now so I can get the cut on your cheek."

"Yes. The letters were the product of his new gender, as he had been writing like that for years and is used to it. The roses and chocolates came from the female aspects that still remained subconsciously."

John nods, following. "Any other cuts? Or possible wounds that are hidden?"

"Nothing that needs medical attention."

"Sherlock-"

"He got a couple other hits in, Doctor, but that's it. Are you done now?"

"I'm done," John says, deciding not to press further and puts the antibiotic cream back in his med kit. Sherlock leans back in his chair, as if to put some distance between them now that John was done.

"So I had to confirm first, which Stacia did so when I called her," Sherlock continues his story. "I went to Eric's apartment, and found a treasure trove, John. He thought that by finally coming back into Stacia's employ as man, that she would finally fall for him, appreciate him even more. He had a crush on her for years, and it was quite the obsessive crush according to his journals. But she had no idea, just welcomed him back. So once he realized that she'd never love him-"

"He started sending the letters," John finished.

"Then the jewelery. When she didn't wear it like he wanted, then he got angry and decided that if he couldn't have her, well you know the old cliche. I found arsenic in his kitchen, and some left over venom as well.. he didn't clean up well after himself. With this evidence, I went to Stacia's to let her know." Sherlock pauses and John stands, and goes to put his med kit away.

"No one was answering the door, and it was unlocked, so I let myself in."

John closes his eyes, and shakes his head, then comes back to sit down in the chair opposite of Sherlock.

"Eric was there," John states.

Sherlock nods. "He was in the kitchen, with a bottle of arsenic and was putting it in her drink he made for her. She was in the other room, safe, so I decided to confront him." Sherlock pauses. "He responded by using a talent I didn't know he had. Interesting one to have, considering he was a dog-walker."

"What was it?"

"He knows how to throw knives... he threw one at me," Sherlock says with a shrug as if it was nothing.

"He missed," Sherlock says testily, seeming to read John's thoughts.

"Well, thank God for that," John drawls.

"So we had a bit of rumble in her kitchen. Stacia figured out what was going on quickly enough and she called the police. End of story." Sherlock relaxes back in his chair. "So what are you upset about?"

"You left without backup," John says flatly using a tone that he has used several times before on patients who stupidly caused their own injuries.

The dark haired man frowns, not put off by the tone but obviously not used to it. "So?"

"So? You went to go confront a man that was getting violent in the passing days. You confronted someone who had been verging on murder for days and was actually going to go through with it at that time. You didn't have back up. Sherlock, you can't just go racing off on your own, especially if you're going to confront murderers."

"I swear I must be hearing things, but you sounded just like Lestrade there."

"Oh don't start. You know you should have had back up. Do you have any common sense at all Sherlock? I could have watched your back. I'm capable of doing it. I can do it. I proved I can keep up with you, at a reasonable pace that is, during that taxi case. You know what I can do, you've seen it," John adds quietly.

Calm blue eyes meet his then, calculating eyes that were suddenly sharp and shrewd now. Observing. Deducing most likely.

"You want to come along on my cases."

"Brilliant deduction."

A corner of Sherlock's mouth curves upward at the sarcasm that spilled from John.

"Why not though? You brought me in on the serial suicides, yes I know to help you make a point, but you brought me in nonetheless."

"This gives you a purpose."

John stares at him, not expecting that. "Pardon?"

"When I first met you, I laid out everything I deduced about, you remember of course. One thing I didn't say was in the lab in St Barts I saw a man who looked lost. No longer able to do what he was trained to do." John mentally winces at the slight stab in his chest at those coolly said words, but didn't protest. "I saw pieces of what you were trained to do come out the next night when Lestrade brought me to Jennifer Wilson's body. The doctor that emerged, the soldier that came running along side me, and that eventually shot another to protect."

Sherlock clasps his hands then. "You felt like you found a purpose then, I saw it in your eyes when I realized you were the shooter."

"And now?"

"I see a man that feels his purpose floundering." Sherlock sighs. "Evident with the limp coming back."

"Not completely back," John disagrees, swallowing after a moment. It's moments like this that make him realize why Sherlock brings out such volatile responses. He sees what most people want to hide and he lays it right out. "Comes and goes."

He doesn't look happy with that response. Then again Sherlock was a big smug about making his limp disappear that night. John suppose the limp coming back is like an affront to him.

He doesn't like it either, so they are in the same boat.

"So you want to continue helping with my cases."

"Yes," John says firmly.

"It gives you purpose to run around London with me?" Sherlock asks with a smile.

"If you want to put it that way, yes. Sherlock, you need someone to watch your back. You have no sense of self preservation. Add on to that you're a bloody idiot, who risks his life for kicks."

"Sounds familiar."

"It's the truth."

Sherlock stays quiet then, looking almost contemplative. "All right then."

John nods, satisfied. Sherlock understands that at least, and is willing to have him come along it seems.

"Besides, I helped last time, and I know I helped this time," John adds just to tack it on for the hell of it.

Sherlock chuckles. "Yes, yes you did. I will admit that. And you do so much better than my skull."

"Thanks. That's everyone's aspiration in life. To be compared to a skull."


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**A/N: Hope you all are enjoying this. Feedback please, any review would be lovely and make my day.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9:<strong>

**Date: February 12th, Day 13**

**Location: St Barts**

**Time: 3 pm**

* * *

><p>John walks down the hallway, a small package in hand. His latest therapy appointment thankfully finished, he was on his way back to the flat, when he ended up running into Stacia Desmond.<p>

The up and coming singer (A country singer he found out while talking to her), gave him a package to give to Sherlock as she'd tried the flat and no one was there. She didn't want to leave it with Mrs Hudson, as she was hoping to give it to Sherlock personally, but her schedule ended up going up on her and she had to leave tomorrow morning.

_"And with my luck there I still wouldn't find him," She had said with a bright smile. "I was lucky enough to get ahold of him the first time."_

John promised not to peak at the contents and to get it to Sherlock. Apparently he looked trustworthy enough because she willingly handed it to him.

Despite finding out one of her long time friends was trying to kill her, she still looked relatively cheerful. Maybe she was just happy that nightmare was over.

John knocks on the door to Sherlock's lab, and then enters (as Mike didn't wait for an invitation when he brought him up to meet Sherlock), but stops as he sees a young woman with brown hair talking to Sherlock.

_"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you."_

Ah. It was Molly Hooper, the one Stamford said had a horrible crush on Sherlock. And from the way she was paying attention to Sherlock, who was not looking at her, John could see said crush.

"John? What brings you by?" Sherlock asks as he looks up from the microscope. After a few days the cuts have healed, and his eye and cheek are no longer as colorful as they once were.

"Ah, have something for you. If you're busy, I can come just-"

"No need, might as well stay if you like, I'm almost done. Molly was just letting me look at some samples."

"I'll have the other ready for you to take home when you leave," Molly says with a smile.

"Good, good..."

Molly bites her lip, and John looks away then, not wanting to see the girl's courage which she was trying to gather, fail on her.

"Okay then," he hears her finally say and she heads for the door. John nods to her, and she nods back before quickly leaving.

"What do you have for me?"

"What? Oh, uh, ran into Ms Desmond today." John walks around and sets the small package down next to him. "She was trying to deliver this to you personally, but her schedule has her leaving tomorrow morning, so she trusted me to deliver it."

"Can you open it? A bit occupied."

And there's the laziness appearing.

"Don't. You may end up breaking something."

"Don't what?"

"Don't hit me with it."

"I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking it."

"I was not."

"You were about to."

John opens his mouth to protests and then just shuts it, and goes about opening the package, although he is truly tempted now to bean him with it.

"Ah."

Sherlock doesn't turn his attention away from the microscope. "What?"

John reads from the note written. "A little taste of what I sing, Sherlock. Hope you enjoy it." He glances at the contents. "She gave you two cd's, one that according to her note came out last year, and an advance copy of the one coming out next week. Plus an offer to use her beach house in California whenever you want. Oh and a cheque."

Sherlock sighs. "I'll sign it over to you."

"You can't."

"What? Why not?"

"Because it's a copy, it's already been put in your account."

Sherlock doesn't look away, but John sees the clenching of the jaw. "Bloody Mycroft."

John does not ask. "So do you get this a lot?"

"What, cheques?"

"No, offers to use someone's beach home whenever it suits you. Or a car, free of charge..."

"Hmm now and then. I imagine at some point Ms Desmond will send me some concert tickets when she has a concert in London. Her beach house, another is country home, a week in Monaco paid for, an open invitation to Baskerville Hall in Devon, some other vacation homes.. I don't get it. When would I ever take a vacation? Why would I? A vacation of doing nothing and being bored..."

"Well I suppose a vacation would be good now and then, just to get away from all the murders," John says plainly, hiding his surprise at the list of offers Sherlock has gotten. And to think he only had free meals at cafes and restaurants...

Learn something new every day.

"Unfortunately, I'm not particularly fond of country music. Your welcome to it though."

"Guess I can try it."

Sherlock stands up, taking out the slides and putting them away. "How was the appointment?"

John doesn't bother to ask how he knew. "The usual."

"Tell her anything about me yet?"

John grins. "She read my blog."

Sherlock chuckles as he puts on his coat. "I bet that went over splendidly."

"She seems to be a bit concerned." John caught the look of worry from Ella. She's not thrilled obviously. Throughout the entire visit, John was deliberating on whether to cancel the rest of his therapy... it wasn't working, no offense to Ella.

"Of course she is. I make every therapist concerned," Sherlock grins. "Although don't cancel your appointments, where's the fun in that?"

"Fun?"

"Fun." Sherlock insists. "Putting your therapist through circles, making her wonder and worry about you flat-sharing with a man who's-"

"Runs around London trying to catch killers?"

"You ran with me."

"That I did."

"I imagine your hungry."

John blinks. "I am, planned on getting something after I dropped off your package-"

"And you have, so come on then," Sherlock picks up his mobile and strides past him.

John grabs the gifts that Stacia Desmond had given Sherlock, stuffing it in his coat pocket, and hurries after Sherlock who's already striding down the hall.

Sherlock takes him to a cafe across the street, about a five minute walk from St Barts. And this time, John is not surprised when the owner comes over to greet Sherlock at the table, tells him what he and his date (Which John once again put up a protest to, although he's noticing it's a losing battle as Sherlock doesn't bother to contradict. Maybe he doesn't hear it?) order is on the house.

Sherlock only gets a coffee and a biscuit, while John gets a full meal.

"So what did you do for her?"

Sherlock looks up from the newspaper that the owner had given him with his drink and biscuit. "Pardon?"

"What did you do? Get her off a murder charge?"

"Oh. No. Nothing like that. I saved her cafe."

"You saved this cafe?"

Sherlock nods, his attention on the newspaper. "Her manager was stealing from her. It was about to go under if it kept up much longer. I pointed it out to her, and she sorted it."

John nods. So far, in eight places he's eaten in with Sherlock, neither of them had to pay, and he's heard eight different stories on why. This would make it the ninth.

"Do you go out of your way to solve problems for restaurant and cafes?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock looks at him this time.

"Do you deliberately solve problems for places like this to get free food? That is when you do eat."

Cool blue eyes gleam with humor. "I don't ask for it. They just offer."

"Which you accept."

"It would be rude not to."

"Sherlock Holmes, refusing to be deliberately rude?"

"A shocker isn't it?" Sherlock says in a mock tone of wonder. "What is the world coming to?"

"No idea."

Sherlock grins and John continues to tuck in his food. It's small moments like this, that helps John decide he actually likes Sherlock.

Although ask him tomorrow, and he'll say he doesn't. Especially if he wakes to deliberately bad violin playing.

He likes the good playing, especially if he can't sleep, if the nightmares keep him from getting too much. If the playing doesn't put him to sleep, then it helps calm his mind.

The bad playing is just obnoxious, and John wonders if he does it to annoy Mrs Turner's tenants next door. It can be loud enough to be heard next door he imagines.

"Any reason you seem to be concentrating hard on the obituaries, Freak?"

"Ah, Sgt Donovan, what are you doing here?"

John curses the arrival of the hostile Sgt. No doubt the slight camaraderie between Sherlock and him is going to disappear. He looks up to see the Sgt and Sherlock in a staring competition.

"About to have a meal.. but now I'm not so sure," she says frostily, not looking away. "With you here and all."

The friendly, relaxed demeanor in Sherlock is gone, and he's sitting ramrod straight in his chair, clearly focused on Sgt Donovan. John's somewhat glad there's not a lot of people currently in. The few that happen to be eating, are in the back. John wishes Sgt Donovan wasn't here. At least she could have left her hostility outside.

"Well, don't let my presence keep you, even as Anderson is meeting you here."

She scowls at him and Sherlock smiles, not looking away from her.

Finally, the victor in the staring contest is ultimately Sherlock, as Sgt Donovan sniffs and stalks past him.

"Are you done?"

John's appetite is now gone. "Yeah, I'm done."

"Come on then."

They put on their coats and Sherlock says a goodbye to the owner and they leave. As they start walking away, John notices Anderson getting out of a cab, but the man doesn't notice them.

Sherlock stays quiet, and he's quiet in the cab ride to the flat. He doesn't say anything until John shuts the door, shrugging off his coat as Sherlock sinks into a chair.

"Predictable. Boring. Disappointing." Sherlock says with scorn.

"Disappointing that you were right about Anderson?"

"No. Sgt Donovan is just disappointing. Perhaps one day she'll no longer be so, but I do not hold out much hope for it. At least Lestrade admits he needs me on the difficult cases. While he doesn't like admitting it, doesn't like needing me, he comes to me when he has to. If Sgt Donovan had her way, well one can presume that Jefferson Hope would be claiming more victims," Sherlock says, referring to the taxi driver. "And a lot of other murderers and other criminals would still be on the streets."

Sherlock gets up from his chair and goes over to the window, looking outside.

"The really maddening thing however? Sgt Donovan has intelligence. She's not an idiot, yet she's acting like one. She has the potential to see, to truly see and observe, John. Yet she stubbornly remains stagnant, not evolving, not moving forward. She's like the majority of them," Sherlock waves to the people passing by on the street below them with frustration, "who move through this world with their eyes open but with their blinders on and their minds asleep."

John stays quiet, listening to what he is hearing. He's hearing Sherlock condemnation of people. He supposes he should be surprised by it, but in actuality, he's not. John had, in the time of nearly two weeks, come to quickly realize Sherlock had a disdainful, cynical, frustrating, and disappointing outlook of people in general. Bits of conversations here and there in the almost two weeks of knowing each other filled in the puzzle. But this one here really fills it in.

"The most frustrating thing though, John? I can see it all so clearly. Everything that I see is without blinders, my mind is awake and alert, and focused. I see the husband cheating on his wife with his secretary, I see the wife cheating on her husband with the plumber, the young woman stealing from her employee. I see the young man who's abusive to his girlfriend. I see that girlfriend who refuses to leave him, but will soon become a statistic. I see," he says insistently, "I observe, I deduce everything.. I miss something now and then yes, but I learn from it. Like with your Harry. I don't shut my mind off or put on blinders or ignore. I see what is so obvious and clear... yet almost none of them do or even bother to. People are idiots, and yet a few have the potential, but-"

"They waste it," John finishes for him quietly. "Like Sgt Donovan."

Shrewd pale blue eyes meet his and John gets a glimpse of what it may be like in the mind of Sherlock Holmes. A mind that never shuts down, never stops thinking.

Just_ never _stops.

He may have his own demons, his nightmares, but at least he doesn't have Sherlock's problem.

"At least Lestrade is not completely asleep.. nor you," Sherlock sounds tired now.

John takes that for what it is.

"The rest of them however.. the madness of it just makes one want to-" Sherlock pauses, cutting himself off and clears his throat. "Well, it's just frustrating.

He's almost curious on what Sherlock was going to say but seeing how tired his flatmate is, he moves into doctor mod. "How long have you been up?"

"No idea."

"You look like you're about to fall flat on your face, and I'm not going to pick you up. Go to bed."

"Is that an order, Doctor?"

"Just a suggestion." Sherlock doesn't listen to orders. Suggestions.. they may work. "And in your actual bed, instead of the sofa."

"Hmm..."

"Sherlock."

"All right," he murmurs, but not with much bite. "I should have known better than to get a doctor for a flatmate," he tosses out as he heads through the kitchen and into the hall.

John watches him and then sighs, sinking down into a chair.

It's not even five pm, and he's already wanting the next day to come.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Warnings: Murder, including the death of a teen. **

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Feedback is appreciated, enjoyed and loved.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

**Date: February 16th, Day 17**

**Time: 9 pm.**

**Location: 17 Montague Ave, Ealing, Greater London**

* * *

><p>John hovers by the doorway, ignoring the stares from Sgt Donovan and the mutterings from Anderson.<p>

Lestrade had called Sherlock, told him that he was needed, and well, thirty minutes, John was at a crime scene.

In another blue coverall, looking at three bodies.

Sherlock hadn't let him come in the bedroom yet, and John was thankful for the pause. He may be an ex soldier, a doctor, and had seen plenty of wounds in Afghanistan and seen quite a few dead soldiers as well.. but he needed some time to gather himself before he looked at the body of a child.

"Do you bring him in often on cases involving kids?" John asks in a quiet tone to the silent Detective Inspector next to him. They weren't in the large room but neither wanted to hear Sherlock snapping at them for disturbing him. Lestrade was the only other one. Donovan and the others were processing the other scenes, stopping only previously when Sherlock stopped at them.

"Not usually," Lestrade says quietly.

"What makes this one different?"

"The Harkswell's are the fourth family in eight years to die like this. Happens only ever two years though. But all families are similar. Married couple, a son and daughter that are in their teens, well to do, all brunettes. No one connected it until the third family from two years ago and that was because of Sherlock. I was almost there honestly, when Sherlock burst into my office, rattled off a lot of things, and then left."

"Another serial killer then?"

"Seems like.. the fact that each family was two years apart kept it from being connected."

John nods. The killings of the adult Harkswell's were brutal. Multiple stab wounds to the chest, then the slicing of the throat. The husband was found just five feet from the front door of the ground floor. The wife just ten feet away from where John and Lestrade were standing. The daughter in the dining and lounge room.

"Done here," Sherlock says briskly as he comes out of the bedroom. "Where's the son?"

Lestrade shifts on his feet and John notices that the DI looks uncomfortable now. "We haven't found him yet, he's bound to be here though."

"He must have made the 999 call then."

"How did you know there was a 999 call?"

"Did you not listen to John? The bodies are not in rigor," Sherlock snaps, sounding irritated with the DI already. His words come out in a matter of fact tone, but quickly.

"But you would know that anyway. The killings are fresh. The last three families were not found until at least twelve hours passed so your family killer had time make sure not to leave any evidence behind. This is his mark, but he was rushed this time. From the state of the kitchen and the dining table in the middle of being set, they were getting ready for dinner. A knock on the door. The husband answers. Gets stabbed for his troubles. He then proceeds to get out a warning in between stabbings, enough to get his wife's attention. She comes out of the kitchen, her husband is most likely now almost dead. The throat is then sliced. The killer is fast and efficient. Nine stab wounds, and then the throat. Twenty seconds at the most. He catches the wife near the entrance, the daughter is trapped. No phone in the dining room, nor the kitchen and the only way out is to go past the killer. The daughter has defensive wounds, so she tried to fight back but ultimately died as well. The clock is damaged in the dining room, she used it to throw at it am. The time is stuck at seven forty six. It is now nine. It took John and I thirty minutes to get here, so your team must have gotten here most likely ten after eight. You connected this quickly with the prior killings within moments at least, that's when you called me. So the killer only had twenty minutes. He was rushed. It must have been the son. Yet the son is not here. Hence, the son was found and quickly killed. Now the only question is, I repeat: Where is the son?"

John takes note of Lestrade looking a bit stunned, but the DI somehow shakes it off.

"We'll find the son. Let me get Anderson so he can process the girl's room."

Sherlock steps to the side as Lestrade passes him and turns to John. "Come on then, upstairs with me."

"But their still searching-"

"And most likely bungling it," Sherlock says derisively, and heads to the stairwell automatically, passing Donovan.

"I told you to stay away from him," Donovan says as John pauses by the stairs.

"Also told me a lot of other things," John says flatly, and heads up the stairs. If it wasn't for her attitude, and the last time he saw her, he had a feeling he would like her.

"Idiot's going to get himself killed," he heard Sally Donovan mutter and he just quickly goes up the rest of the stairs.

"We've already searched the rooms, Mr Holmes," one of the Detective Sergeants that John was briefly introduced to earlier protests.

"Well, then you won't mind if we take another look," Sherlock states and passes by them.

"Sorry," John murmurs to Caswell and Harper, and follows Sherlock into the room, what looks to be one of the three bedrooms.

"How quickly did all of that come to you?"

"All of what?"

"The timing."

"The moment I heard you make your observation. Then it factored in by the time on the clock, and the response time of the Yard, the 999 call, the time it takes to stab someone. Especially in that manner. It's quite the personal killing."

John looks under the bed, and then straightens as Sherlock closes the doors to the walk i closet. "Personal?"

"He could have stabbed the wife from behind, as her back was to him. But he forced her to face him. Same with the daughter, same with the husband. Face to face. Intimate. Personal. The viciousness and quickness of the attacks, despite being rushed due to the son, indicates that this is personal to him."

"So you're sure it's a man?"

"Statistically speaking."

"Of course."

"So.. he knows the families then?"

"In a way. They represent something he hates. And he lashes out at it by killing."

"But it only happens every two years."

"Same date, every two years."

"So.. it's a trigger," John states, realizing now, pausing in the second bedroom. "Something happened to the killer on this date."

"Good, John," Sherlock says with a smile as he checks the bathroom and John feels good at having figured that out.

"But the two years..."

"That is the tricky part."

"That's why you wanted to be a part of this. To find out the why on the two years."

Sherlock nods. "And of course what the families represent to him."

They search the other bedroom and the bathroom, and then John follows Sherlock back downstairs and into the dining area.

"They haven't checked outside yet," Sherlock comments. "I am not surprised."

"We're about to now." Lestrade says coming up behind them. "We've been a bit busy securing the scene."

"Don't bother, John and I can do it," Sherlock says dismissively, and John murmurs an apology to Lestrade. The man just nods in a resigned manner, and hands John a torch.

Sherlock opens the door and they step out onto the porch. John turns on the torch to be able to see in the dark, then notices that Caswell is behind him.

Figuring he was ordered to watch them, John doesn't say anything and just flashes the torch onto the ground and then upwards, stopping at the railing.

"Sherlock."

Blood on the railing. "Follow the trail," Sherlock orders, and John trails the torch over the railing, seeing spots of blood on the porch itself, and then on the steps.

John hears Caswell swear and go back inside, most likely to get evidence bags and to take pictures. John and Sherlock follow the trail a few more feet to the grass.

"John. The shed."

He flashes the torch onto the shed, and sees a set of doors, slightly open.

"Come on."

John nods, his stomach tight. Most likely the son is in there. Another kid, a teenager, a life taken before they had the proper chance to live.

John shakes the thoughts from his head, not wanting to dwell on them now. He can do that later, when they are away from here. As he does, he hears something faint.

He takes hold of Sherlock's arm, pulling him to a stop, earning an indignant protest, but John holds up a finger, and concentrates.

It's a... it's a_ voice._

John lets go and strides over to the shed in a matter of steps, shoving open the doors and aiming his torch all over, finally landing on a body just a few feet from him.

"H-h-help-"

"He's alive," John moves over to the boy, laying down on the ground, blood seeping out from the boys hands and stomach. "Sherlock, he's alive!"

"LESTRADE!" He hears Sherlock call out, still sounding as cool and calm as ever. "AMBULANCE!"

Instinct and training comes rushing back to John as he fights to keep the boy laying on the ground in front of him conscious and alive.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Ealing Hospital<strong>

**Time: 11 pm**

* * *

><p>John paces the length of the waiting room, wondering how much longer it would be before Lestrade came to them. Sherlock wanted to start going over the evidence he had gathered and start tracking the killer, but John wanted to know if Nathaniel Harkswell was going to live.<p>

He did everything he could until the ambulance came.

"You don't have to wait with me, Sherlock."

"I believe you were the one that said you wanted to be with me when I went haring off around London trying to find killers," Sherlock says dryly, not moving from his spot against the wall. "If I leave, that's what I would be doing."

"You mean you're actually listening to me?"

"Don't get used to it."

"No chance of that," John mutters. He comes to a stop as Lestrade comes into the waiting room.

"Nathaniel Harkswell is going to live. He lost a good deal of blood, and somehow each stab wound missed vital organs. The doctor said he was stabbed four times, and the kid said something about cutting the killer, so with any luck, some of that blood on the porch could be the killers.. and maybe we'll be able to find the knife in the yard and get some prints."

Sherlock doesn't counter any of that, at least verbally. In fact he appears to not be listening. However relief that the boy made it pours through John and he sits down, needing a chair.

"Also, your quick thinking helped, Doctor Watson. If you and Sherlock had not have found him, Nathaniel would have died. So we have some good news on this sorry night. Meanwhile I have to go see if I can find any next of kin."

"Is he lucid?"

"No, Sherlock you are not going to question him. I'm going to question him about whatever he may knows, and that will be tomorrow when he's awake and more clear."

John hears Sherlock huff as he sits down in a chair. Lestrade stops by Sherlock and says something to him. Sherlock gives an 'Don't be stupid' look and John doesn't hear what he says in return, his mind on the boy.

How close that Nathaniel was to dying.

"Stop."

John starts and notices Sherlock is sitting in front of him now, cool pale blue eyes assessing him as usual.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're letting your emotions take hold. It prevents you from thinking clearly, from focusing. You know better than that, John," Sherlock tells him coolly, and John looks at the taller man. "He's alive. We have a witness."

"I suppose that makes it easier. For you at least."

Sherlock's eyes narrow. "It should be easy for you. Before you came here you were surrounded by injuries, blood and death. Some of them as young as seventeen no doubt."

"I'm not in Afghanistan anymore."

"No, but you're still in a battlefield."

_"When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield."_

Well, Mycroft was right.

John can't believe it's taken him this long to realize it.

When this one is resolved, and he knows it will be soon, John decides he won't be writing this one up. Not straight away.

Perhaps a little while down the line.

A long while.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Author's Note: A couple things I mentioned near the end are brought up in a post kalypso_v. about battlefield medics at the bbc sherlock website i have linked in my profile. Very well written, and it helped with future chapters in the process. Also if I have a passage in any of my Sherlock stories, including this one, that is in italics and bold, it will be a flashback. **

**Feedback makes everything better. :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

**February 17th, Day 18**

**Time: A little after five**

**Regents Park**

* * *

><p>"Damn it," Sherlock and John come to a standstill. He could have gone so many different directions.<p>

"How can he run? His leg has still got to be hurting," Sherlock complains.

"Adrenalin."

"We can go with that. Clever to run into the trees.. it's going to be dark soon, we need to find him before it does."

"He was talking on a mobile when we spotted him. He recognized you," John points out in between breaths. "How?"

"Don't know. I'll ask him though. First thing on my list."

John ignores the sarcasm, and suddenly they spot the man coming out between two trees.

The Family Killer the newspapers had dubbed, spotted them at the same time. He took off. Again.

So did John and Sherlock.

Then somehow in the race, John and Sherlock were separated amongst the large trees.

He could hear water, which meant he was near Regent Park's boating lake. A couple boats in the water from the sounds of it.

But that's not going to help.

"Bloody hell," John mutters,

Where could Sherlock have gone?

Then as he passes another large group of trees, he hears Sherlock's voice.

John turns and heads towards it. He slows down a little, as the voices are clearer. He's closer to the water.

The sound of a body hitting the ground and a groan from Sherlock makes John reach under his coat to get his gun.

John spots them then, as he rounds a large tree. Sherlock and the killer fighting. Sherlock is doing all right for the moment. John looks around, he can hear a boat in the distance, but with the trees as cover for all three of them, he can take the chance.

Then a glint gets his attention.

Time to act now.

John raises his gun.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>  
><strong>Time: 8 pm<strong>

* * *

><p>"Quit moving."<p>

"I'm uncomfortable."

"Of course you are."

"Are you almost done?"

"I will be if you stop moving."

John ignores the man's answering mutter, just concentrates on what he is doing now. He needs to.

"Say it." Sherlock says, in a bored tone.

"Say what?"

"You know you want to. Just say it and get it out of the way."

"You.. you are an idiot."

"Can't you think of something else other than that?"

"No. Because it bears repeating!"

"Oh no need to yell."

"Sherlock," John pauses, closes his eyes for a bit to gather himself, and then opens them back up. "You do know that you will stay alive longer if you don't taunt the killers."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"What?"

"You heard me,"

"I don't understand you."

"That's all right. No one does. How's my arm?"

"It's fine. No scar will come from this. You can roll your sleeve back down now. Lucky he just nicked you with that knife."

"Well, getting shot can prevent a proper stabbing," Sherlock says drolly.

John clenches his jaw as he finishes cleaning up the small wound on Sherlock's arm. The knife did just only nick him, but it would have been a lot worse if John hadn't had his gun on him.

"Shouldn't have said what you did about the wife to him. You can roll down your sleeve now."

"It worked."

"Yes it did. You enraged him enough to get him to come at you, once again showing your stellar lack of self preservation."

"Why bother with it when you're with me to watch my back?"

John pauses, wondering if he should take that for what it is.

"Anyways, what does it matter? I caught Lestrade another serial killer. More or less. You should get some sleep, you look exhausted."

For good reason. John hadn't slept since they were brought to the crime scene. When he was done with Sherlock he was going to pass out for twelve hours straight.

He hoped. Unless the nightmares came. Please, keep them at bay tonight.

Everything happened rather quickly. Sherlock and John visited Nathaniel, with Lestrade present, who explained that he ran outside while making the 999 call. That he tried to fight the killer (Later on to be identified as Edmund Rhydderch), even while being stabbed. That he somehow got the knife away from Rhydderch and stabbed him in defense, before stumbling to the shed.

Then the boy ended up giving Sherlock three crucial clues.

The fact that the killer was stabbed in the leg.

A name that was muttered over and over while Rydderch was trying to kill him.

And that the killer had red hair.

Unfortunately that was all the boy could remember. Everything else was black.

So began trips to hospitals for a red headed man that had come in over the night with a stab wound.

And searches on the internet and newspapers for the name Ariel Rhydderch.

John went to the hospitals, glad to help out on this, while Sherlock did the research. Sherlock apparently had a reputation with most of the hospitals in London, and as per the course he wasn't well liked by most of them.

John got lucky on his fifth visit though. Lestrade ended up visiting that one at the same time, and the DI figured out what John was up to. The nurse that the DI was talking to was being difficult, but when she heard Sherlock mentioned she was quite willing to help.

As she searched for stab wound visits, she told John that Sherlock helped clear her name in a Angel Of Mercy case a year ago. And John found out why she was so difficult with Lestrade then. Being a prime suspect in a case while innocent can bring out a grudge in anyone.

After ten minutes of searching Lestrade and John got what they needed. And Sherlock texted John with the news he found out who Ariel Rhydderch was.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Location: 221B Baker<strong>_

_**Time: 1:20 pm**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>"She was killed on February sixteenth, 2000," Sherlock blurts out as Lestrade and John make their way into the flat. "Her photograph has her with brown hair. She had left her husband and was going on a trip with her lover and his two kids when the car ended up in a five car wreck. Ariel, the lover, and his kids died." <strong>_

_**"Well that explains the date. But not the two years."John points out.**_

_**"She left him on February sixteenth, 1998 according to the daughter who I had spoken to. She filed for divorce, again on February sixteenth, in 1999."**_

_**"Then the death on the same date in 2000." Lestrade adds.**_

_**Sherlock nods, apparently thrilled that the both of them were able to follow. "Mr Rhydderch went downhill from then on. He tried to kill himself on the one year anniversary. He was then committed by his daughter, who said that her father kept on saying that it felt like her mother stabbed him repeatedly and with the divorce papers cut his throat. According to his daughter he was there from the first of March in 2000 to the first of February in 2002."**_

_**"She didn't insist on keeping him there?"**_

_**"She couldn't afford it anymore. So our Mr Rydderch was released. "**_

_**"And fifteen days later, a family is killed," Lestrade finishes.**_

_**"He must have come across them one day. Looking happy, together, whole.. everything he thought he had." **_

_**"So he's doing to them what he said his wife did to him."**_

* * *

><p>After that discussion, Lestrade left to go back to the NSY, and put out an alert on Edmund Rhydderch, and also to do a press conference.<p>

Sherlock didn't have much faith in either flushing out the man, which John expected.

Sherlock had his own methods, and two hours later they found their target. Said target noticed them.

And a chase began. Somehow John and Sherlock ended up getting split up during the chase. John came across the two of them in time. They both were in the middle of the fight, when Edmund shoved Sherlock into a wall quite hard and John caught a flash of a knife.

Edmund R was aiming for the heart.

So John aimed for his heart. Then made himself scarce when Sherlock made a call to Lestrade.

"How did you explain the gunshot wound to Lestrade?"

"Told him I didn't see anything. Only thing I could see was a great big knife ready to slice me open. He accepted it." Sherlock leans back against the couch and instantly winces.

"Your back is going to be sore for a couple days," John says without any sympathy. "I'll get some Paracetamol for you."

"I don't want it."

"Just take it."

After a few minutes of arguing, John is able to get Sherlock to take a couple pills with a glass of water. When John goes to return the empty glass he hears Sherlock say something.

"What was that?"

"That's twice now, you know."

John knows what he means.

"I know."

He can feel Sherlock staring at the back of his head. As if trying to get the answers out of his head. John turns a little to meet Sherlock's stare.

He doesn't know what to make out of the expression that Sherlock has. Or the look in the man's eyes.

Sherlock clears his throat then.

Nods.

John nods in return and heads into the kitchen.

Nothing else needs to be said.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Upstairs Bedroom of 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: 11 pm**

* * *

><p>John lays on the bed, having showered, and now hoping to get some sleep.<p>

He's exhausted, and he wants to just simply sleep for a good long while.

But he can't close his eyes yet.

John rolls over and reaches underneath his bed, and pulls out the gun box and opens the lid. He stares at his gun.

As if it could give him any answers.

It won't.

He closes the lid, securing it, and then pushes it back under the bed. He rolls back onto his back.

_"That's twice now, you know."_

_"I know."_

He's killed twice now, since meeting Sherlock.

Neither of them good men.

Is that why he isn't bothered by it?

Did the war really change him that much?

_That is a rather stupid question, is it not?_

Yeah, John could hear Sherlock asking that.

Of course it changed him. It changes everyone. He healed in Afghanistan, but he also killed.

How many times has the field hospital he worked in been attacked? Enough. He was also part of MERT. He went out plenty of times to an incident aboard a CH-47 Chinook. A lot of those times they were under fire when collecting the casualties.

It was how he got shot in the first place.

John exhales, ruthlessly pushing aside that blasted memory. He needs to go to sleep and stop thinking.

He did what he had to do. He did what he told Sherlock what he wanted to do. To watch his back.

He did just that.

Truths are hitting him hard and fast tonight.

John knows he's no longer in the military, he knows he's no longer in Afghanistan. He knows all of this.

He knows.

He also knows the world wants to classify himself as a civilian.

That's the problem.

He's doesn't fit the definition of civilian. Not military. Not a civilian.

He left the battlefield in one life, and he's now in his second life, he's joined another battlefield.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

MERT is Medical Emergency Response Team. They evacuate casualties. In Britain's case, these teams comprise an anesthetist, an A&E specialist, further medics and force protection troops, who are flown to the incident aboard a CH-47 Chinook. (The American equivalent, which is also used to evacuate wounded British troops, is the Blackhawk "Pedro"). Two Apache attack helicopters provide cover.


	12. Chapter 12

**bTitle: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: A frank discussion about a character using drugs is in this chapter. **

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Word Count: 2529**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

**Date: February 18th, Day 19**

**Time: 3 pm.**

**Location: New Scotland Yard-Lestrade's Office**

* * *

><p>"That wraps it up, Doctor Watson," Lestrade says as he comes back into his office, handing John a tea. "Thanks for coming down to make the statement."<p>

"I know you wanted Sherlock to do it, but his back is still bothering from the fight last night, and he told me everything that happened after we got separated. I have a pretty good memory though."

"Pity you didn't see the shooter."

"I probably would have if I hadn't got turned around in the trees," John says calmly, then takes a sip of his tea. He had to do quite a bit of editing in his statement. His conscience pricked a bit at that, but he reminded himself it was necessary.

"Maybe so. Anyways, I suppose coming here gets you out of the flat and away from a Sherlock Holmes in pain."

"It's his own bloody fault."

"It normally is."

Lestrade chuckles. "Everything else okay? You look like you didn't get much sleep."

"I didn't," John says plainly. No dream, he just couldn't sleep much after getting only a couple hours.

"Did Sherlock keep you awake with his complaining?"

"Not really. There is a benefit of having your bedroom upstairs. You don't hear him unless he's calling very loudly." John sighs. "Or when he's playing his violin."

"Annoying I take it."

"Only when he's playing deliberately bad."

"I have to admit, his last few flatmates never lasted long."

"He told me as much."

"He's got to be hard to live with. He's hell to be around sometimes just for a few minutes."

"Not hellish.. just, well I'm never bored."

Lestrade chuckles. "No,no you wouldn't be." He taps the desk with his hand. "Can I be honest, Doctor Watson?"

"Sure."

"I'm surprised you're still living with him. In fact I'm surprised you're coming to crime scenes with him."

"I suppose you think I'm a bit of an idiot then?" John takes another sip of his tea.

"Ah, I apologize for Donovan. She never knows when to keep her opinions to herself."

"You shouldn't have to apologize for her."

"I shouldn't have to apologize for Sherlock, nor do you, but we both do."

"Point taken. With Sherlock though, if you spend enough time with him, you just have to anticipate with him, and then you can figure out how to deal with it." John pauses. "Of course what you anticipate may happen, won't, so then you have to start all over again."

"I don't envy that. I only have to put up with him when I bring him in on a case, you've had to put up with him for about twenty days straight now. You haven't run yet though."

"No point in doing so." John stays silent for a moment, liking the easy going way this conversation with DI Lestrade is going. Perhaps it's because before this the only time he's really talked to the man was at crime scenes, and for five minutes at the flat.

"So you've known him for five years?"

"Five long years," Lestrade says in a long suffering tone.

"Feels longer?

The DI nods. "First time I met the man he was higher than a bloody kite. He was at the barrier of a crime scene, and somehow got past it when I literally turned around to talk to one of my Sergeants, and there he was. He spouted off a whole bunch of things in a manner of seconds, knowing things no one could possibly know. I arrested him on the spot when he told me where to find the gun, and while I had him in custody he started spouting off more deductions and a little voice in the back of my head told me to pay attention and listen. So I did. And that was the beginning. Although, to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I told that voice to piss off."

John heard all of it, but the words "higher than a kite" echoed in his head. And once more he was confronted with the possible fact that Sherlock used drugs.

It didn't fit. How could it? Drugs muddled the brain eventually destroying it, destroyed the body as well. How could a man that so prized his intelligence and his mind use drugs?

"So Sherlock used?" John asks quietly, keeping his eyes level with Lestrade's.

The DI winces, apparently recognize his slip. He gets up, and leaves the office for a moment. John twists in the chair and notices that the few cops near Lestrade's office are being sent off. Bloody hell.

A few moments later Lestrade comes in and firmly shuts his door.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot there-."

"Don't worry. Just taking precautions. They didn't hear you, but can never be too careful these days. Lestrade sits back down.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. As for your question... well that's Sherlock's story to tell, if he decides to."

"But you already started it, might as well finish," John pushes. He wants confirmation at least.

Lestrade stares at John and he can see that the DI is debating about how much to tell him.

"It's not my place to reveal all the dirty bits of Sherlock's past," he says quietly after a couple of minutes. "But I'll tell you what I know. If you want more, the whole truth and answers to the questions you'll get from this chat, you'll have to talk to Sherlock."

John nods. And wonders how he's going to be able to ask Sherlock about it. "So he used then."

"Yes. I don't know how long he had been a user when I met him, but somehow he could still function properly. For the first few months of our acquaintance, he helped out the Yard, whether he was asked to or nto. There were a few times I thought I recognized the signs of him using, but he wasn't always high at a crime scene. But after a bit I couldn't risk my reputation on it anymore, nor the Yard's. He already aggravated most of the Yard by now, but they had no knowledge of his use. If they had found out-"

"Then everything would have gone to shit," John says bluntly.

Lestrade nods. "I gave him an ultimatum after an incident landed him in the hospital. One that could only get through to him."

"Work."

"Right. Get clean or no more cases."

"Do you know what he used?" John asks curiously as he takes another sip of his tea. He wonders if if it was perhaps Oxycontin, or another prescription drug.

"Cocaine."

The tea goes down wrong and John coughs, startled at the revelation. "What?"

"He injected."

The absolute insanity of it all makes John just stares past the Detective Inspector. The DI nods, apparently understanding how John feels.

"That's- that's just-"

"Dangerous. Stupid. I know."

John frowns. "That incident that you said caused you to give him an ultimatum. He overdosed didn't he?"

"Accidental. Tainted cocaine. His dealer apparently didn't care for Sherlock getting her brother arrested for murder. We couldn't touch her unfortunately, and she's still out there dealing... bloody woman has a fantastic lawyer."

John just continues to stare past the DI. "I don't understand why.."

"As I said you'll have to ask him the why's. But I understand how you feel.. how we know him today, it just doesn't mesh. I can see you trying to pit the image of Sherlock using against the image of Sherlock today. What's crazy is how he was able to function with it running through his system. Somehow he was able to think, talk, walk, and do his thing while on it. So after my ultimatum he disappeared for a few months. Just disappeared. Went to go see him the next day and the bed was empty."

"No idea where he went?"

Lestrade shakes his head. "The doctor I spoke to said Sherlock had a visitor, and left with him. Wouldn't give me any more information. In fact seemed nervous about it."

Mycroft. Had to be.

_"I worry about him. Constantly."_

Puts everything in a completely different light.

"And then, during what was suspected a murder suicide, Sherlock showed back up. Clean. And as far as I know been clean ever since. Those nicotine patches no doubt are the safest substitute for him."

John makes himself promise then and there to make sure there is always nicotine patches in the flat. If there's one thing John knows, as a doctor, is once an addict, always an addict.

"I'm married to my work."

Yeah. Work. He's addicted to it.

In a sense, it's safer than his former addiction.

"It... it doesn't make sense. It literally doesn't. How can someone with his intelligence, his mind, his drive and focus...it.. I know, talk to Sherlock."

"I agree to it not making sense. I never asked Sherlock myself why he used, partially afraid of the answer really. If you ever get the nerve to ask him, let me know what his response is. But the most important part out of all of this, is that he's clean. And remains clean."

John nods, agreeing with that.

"Which meant that every time he moved, I kept an eye out on his neighbors. I'm extremely glad he left the place in Montague. Even with the problems he had with the landlord, two drug dealers had moved into the area right before he left."

"So was that drugs bust.. really just a reminder to Sherlock?"

Lestrade sighs. "In a manner of speaking. But I also knew he would have found the suitcase. His involvement in the cases I bring him has changed. He went from just showing up for a few minutes to now-"

"Chasing after the killers."

"Makes the paperwork hellish. I got the practice down though. After five years, it doesn't take me two nights to write up the reports." He pauses. "Just a half a day.. depending on the case."

"Better than a whole day."

"True."

John, deciding he's stayed long enough, drinks the rest of his tea, then bins his paper cup. He stands up and starts to put on his coat.

"Doctor Watson."

John pauses and looks at the DI, who now looks worried.

"I know what I revealed was quite shocking. I'm hoping this doesn't color your opinion of Sherlock. You seem to be able to cope with him, handle him a lot better than the rest of us can. Perhaps even like him."

"I do.. when he's not being a complete frustrating git."

Lestrade smiles, but he still looks worried.

"No worries. I'm not going to move out and cease associating with Sherlock because of a past habit," John assures him, touched about the Inspector's concern. John knows he's not a prince himself, even though he never did drugs. As it is, when Sherlock isn't aggravating him, hacking him off, or being a general pain in the arse, John finds himself liking the man. He likes his company.

And he thinks Sherlock likes his company.

He hopes he does at least.

True, the two of them are completely different from the other, but they seem to live well together. Well most of the time.

"I will admit, there is a downside to Sherlock being clean. But I've learned to live with it, if it means he's not using anymore."

"Oh, what's that?"

"He wasn't as bad as he is now."

John frowns. "Pardon?"

"When he was high, Sherlock was still brilliant of course. Still saw things no one else could quite see, was still arrogant and an arse, but at times tolerable. But clean, his tongue and mind became quite the vicious combination. Soon I was the only one who wouldn't be driven out of the room in anger or tears. It's as if his perception of people became worse and he didn't care who was on the end of his lashing."

_"I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat, and happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors going by the state of your knees."_

John sees that now for what it is. Not just something said to get under the skin of Anderson and Donovan. But to show them exactly what he thinks of them.

_"Yes, thank you for your input." Door slams. _

Another message sent without needing to say anything.

_"Dear God, what must it be like in your funny little heads? It must be so boring."_

Translation. WHY ARE YOU NOT FOLLOWING? In big large letters.

_"There are clear signs, even you LOT couldn't miss them." _

Open your eyes and see!

_"Why didn't I think of that?"_

_"Cause you're an idiot. No no no, don't be like that, practically everyone is."_

No one uses their brains. Or their eyes.

_I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath, do your research. _

You are a moron sir, don't open your mouth.

_Look at you lot, you're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. _

I'd love to be able to shut my mind off and just going through life blind. PAY ATTENTION AND FOLLOW!

_"The most frustrating thing though, John? I can see it all so clearly. Everything that I see is without blinders, my mind is awake and alert, and focused."_

_I don't shut my mind off or put on blinders or ignore. I see what is so obvious and clear... yet almost none of them do or even bother to. _

Suddenly some things seem so clear.

It's not that Sherlock won't shut his mind of... Sherlock_ can't _shut off his mind. It's not wired to shut off.

"Doctor Watson?"

"What? Oh, sorry, just mind went away. Sorry about that."

"Not a problem. Anyways, let Sherlock know I'll be stopping by tomorrow. I do need to get his statement, even though you provided a proper one."

John nods.

"Mind if I ask what you were thinking of?"

"Just some things that had been said in the past... do you remember what you said to me that night, when Sherlock left to get in that cab?"

"Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And one day, if we're very very lucky, he might be a good one." Lestrade says quietly. "I still believe that, despite what others may think." He sighs and then his gaze connects with John. "Sometimes there is someone behind that great man that can steer him to be a good man."


	13. Chapter 13

**bTitle: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: A frank discussion of sexuality is in this chapter. **

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Word Count: 2456**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

**Date: February 21st, Day 22**

**Location: Newspaper Stand in London**

**Time: A little past two pm. **

* * *

><p>John watches as the two secondary school girls are giving Sherlock bright smiles as he buys a bundle of newspapers, while talking to newspaper vendor.<p>

Sherlock had been telling him about a prior case he had, one that featured a crazy cat lady, food poisoning, and fraud. It was all a bit chaotic, but it seems to be one of Sherlock's favorite cases.

Since they've stopped at the newsstand, John's noticed how some people react to Sherlock before he even speaks to them, that is if he deigns to acknowledge them.

Before the two school girls, it was a group of three women, all well dressed giving him the old once over. One of them even attempted to strike up a conversation with Sherlock, but he didn't give her more than a cursory glance, before turning back to the newspaper trader.

_"So you don't have a girlfriend then?"_

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

Sherlock's disinterest in romantic relationships was just briefly touched on. John didn't really like to think on the conversation, as awkward as it was. But since then, the only women John has seen in Sherlock's life have been clients or Mrs Hudson.

And for a brief time John thought Sherlock was in fact gay, but the two men at the newsstand who were.. interested, also were ignored.

"Excuse me..."

Oh dear God, one of them was going to speak to him.

How old was this girl? She had to be barely sixteen and yet...

Sherlock pauses in his conversation, glances at the school girl, then turns his attention back to the newstand vendor.

The girls on her right and left whispered urgently into her ear. And oh no, looks like she was going to try again. "I was-I was wondering if-"

"You are barely out of school, and I am at least ten years older than you, I suggest you might have better luck trying a boy your age who might actually be interested in carrying on a conversation with you," Sherlock says bluntly and coldly. John winces at the brutal nature of it. "By the way, your blonde friend just stole your wallet and with the easy way she did it, I would say she does it quite often and without care that she's leaving your short of money all the time." He hands the money to the vendor, then turns to John, the girls obviously dismissed from his mind.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock strides off, and John glances back at the girls one more time. The girl that screwed up her courage to talk to Sherlock is now currently glaring at one of her friends.

"That was a little..."

"What?"

"You could have let her down gently, Sherlock."

"What's the point in that?"

"Basic common courtesy."

"Oh this is one your proper social conventions."

"It's not one of mine, it's part of life."

Sherlock shakes his head. "She's young. She'll get over it. Children today are resilient, or so I heard."

"Sherlock-"

"John."

"Sherlock, haven't you ever been at a age where you had to work up the nerve to talk to someone you fancied?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

John waits until the cross the street, heading over to the flat. "So you never had a problem striking up a conversation with someone you fancied?"

"If I ever fancied anyone, I don't think I would have."

"Wait, you mean to tell me you've never had a relationship."

Sherlock pauses at the door to 221B, giving John a look. "I could have sworn we had a talk about this when we met."

"Sort of. I asked if you had a girlfriend. You said not your area. I then asked if you had a boyfriend. Which I said which is fine, in return you said I know it's fine. Then I stupidly repeated my question, you said no. Then I made some stupid comment about both of us being single which you misinterpreted as interest and did your I'm married to my work speech. Sounds like you had to use it a few times before."

Sherlock just stares at John. He blinks a couple times. "You remembered that whole conversation?"

John snorts. "It was quite awkward. For some reason I'm never able to banish awkward conversations."

"Must be inconvenient."

"It is."

Sherlock pushes open the door, and John follows him inside, shutting it, and then hangs up his coat. Then goes up the stairs and into the sitting room.

"Mind if I watch telly?"

"Not at all," Sherlock says, although he didn't see it, he heard the eye roll.

John flips on the telly, mindful to keep the volume low. "So why did you buy so many newspapers?"

"Looking."

"For what?"

"Possible cases. It's been a few days."

So far his mood hasn't spiraled into foulness yet. Just some restless so far. That's good.

"And if one doesn't come soon my brain is going to rot."

"You know, you could pass the time in-between cases by doing something else. Other than going to Barts, or doing experiments."

"And what would that be?"

"Dating. A woman. Or a man, whatever floats your interest."

"Are you back on the subject?"

"I never left it. Just took a couple minute break from it."

He hears Sherlock sigh, and John wonders if the man is irritated with him. Well, quid pro quo then.

"I really don't see why my lack of dating is so important."

"I'm just trying to understand." John at this point turns off the telly.

"Relationships are drugs."

John grimaces at the term. He hadn't talked to Sherlock about his talk with Lestrade, or even tried to bring up the subject of his past. How could he? Not an easy subject to just bring up in casual conversation.

"All right..."

"They suck you in, they twist you about, they leave you dry and apparently wanting more. Who in their right minds would want to do that over and over?"

John doesn't say anything and he wonders if what Sherlock said are a self condemnation for his past.

"Over and over you again, all of you open up yourselves to problems that could be rightly avoided. Relationships are messy, far too dramatic, no self control involved what so ever. They leave you emotionally vulnerable and open to more hurts in the future," Sherlock bursts out shoving one newspaper to the side.

"Well that's insightful." Also a good analogy to using drugs. Why

"Well, it's the truth. Relationships bring out the murderous side of people. I've had plenty of cases for proof of that. Also, look at your sister and her leaving her wife."

"Not something I would use as a example, Sherlock."

"Your parents still married?"

John blinks at the change of subject. "Dad died when I was nineteen. Mum never remarried. She died a year ago.." John trails off, the faint memory still hurting a little.

A pause. "Apologies if I offended you."

"No, you didn't."

"Was it a happy marriage?"

"I like to think it was."

"What about your parents?"

"My parents?"

"Yeah."

"Divorced. Although I heard Father died when I was...twenty one. I think. Things were a bit fuzzy then."

John wouldn't be surprised.

"How old were you when they divorced?"

"Twelve. And I was the cause of the divorce."

"I doubt that Sherlock."

Sherlock looks up, meeting John's eyes. "Oh no, I was. Father didn't care for me telling Mummy that he was sleeping with his secretary. Nothing but a cliche my father was. The final straw however was her finding out that he decided to get even with my spilling the beans by attempting to sending me to military school in France."

"Sounds like your father is the cause of the divorce, his treatment of you just spurred it on."

"Hmm. If you want to put it that then by all means do so."

"So your mother is still around.. I wasn't quite sure how you and Mycroft spoke of her that night."

"How did we speak of her?"

"That your fued always upset her."

"It used to. Now she just ignores it, or is resigned to it when she she is able to force the both of us to spend some quality time together for dinners."

John tries to imagine the type of woman who would raise someone like Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.

"I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"Imagine what your mother could be like.. considering who she raised for sons."

Sherlock chuckles. "Hard to describe her. You would have to meet her."

"So she's like you and Mycroft then. She defies explanation."

"Of course she does."

"What does she do?"

"Believe it or not, she's a former professor and a published writer. She stopped teaching oh... what, nine, ten years ago? She solely works on her books and her book tours."

"She write anything I may have read?"

"Do you like Mythology?"

"Pardon?"

"Celtic, Welsh, Greek, Roman, Norse mythology. She is considered quite the expert."

"Since she's your mother, I imagine she would be one."

"Is that sarcasm?"

John grins. "No."

"Ah."

"Anyway, we've gotten past the subject."

"I was hoping for that."

"Come on, Sherlock. I'm trying to understand here, and with you just not really explaining, how am I suppose to understand?"

"I explained to you what I think of relationships."

"Yes you did. But then you have a relationship with your brother. And your mother. And we have a working-flatmate relationship. So not all relationships are defined by your definition. This is one of those peculiar things about you.. like you know not knowing the Earth goes round the sun."

"Oh not that_ again."_

"How can you not know the solar system? Basic astronomy? How could your mother who was a professor mind you, let that slide?"

"John, I do believe you are the most frustrating person I ever met."

"Ah well then, I do believe that the pot is calling the kettle black."

"You're not going to let me search the papers in peace are you?"

"You don't let me watch the telly in peace most of the time, so consider this a fair trade."

Sherlock growls in frustration and leans back against the couch. "I don't do physical relationships. I see no need for them, I have no want or desire for them."

"So you're not attracted to women? Or men?"

"I see attractiveness, yes. I can appreciate beauty, but I am not obsessed with it. Besides some of the people that the majority find attractive, do not have attractive mental qualities, so what is the point in appreciating the attractiveness of someone is there is nothing worth while behind it?"

"So, you've never been involved with a woman. Or a man?"

"Are you speaking in terms of a real involvement or for a case?"

"Real involvement."

"No then."

"But you have for a case."

"Yes. But nothing more than show really, because again I do not need it."

"So.. have you ever.." John pauses, wondering how he can word this. He's a doctor for god's sake. He should be able to ask this... "So you've never-"

"What? Had sex?"

John waves his hand.

"You know this conversation is quite odd, even for the two of us. John, from what has been said, I think you know the answer."

John blinks, feeling a bit shocked. Sherlock's just a few years younger than him... and.. "How? How is that possible? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm trying to wrap my brain around it, and it's a bit difficult."

"I suppose you've had plenty of relationships."

John clears his throat. "Er, Yes."

"All of them sexual?"

John coughs. He deserves this. "Not all of them."

"But a majority of them."

He started the conversation, he should be able to handle Sherlock's questions.

"Yes."

"All of those that did, were they all satisfying?"

Oh, dear God.

"Erm.. I.. I don't.." John flounders, trying to think of a way on how to not answer this, but so far he can't. Sherlock's been honest with his questions, so John should be to. "No."

"Yet you continue."

"I continue to search for the right woman, because I know there is one. One that fits me, in every way possible, and I fit her in every way possible."

"By that, you also mean sexually."

John clears his throat again. "Sherlock, what-"

"You are like most, John. You require a physical relationship as well a mental one with the woman you one day may settle down with. You need all aspects to be stimulated in a relationship. I on the other hand, am fine with any of it. I am content and satisfied with what I have in my life. My work. It keeps me satisfied, keeps me stimulated. You and all the others who are in the same boat can have your physical messy, emotional, dramas with the opposite or same sex. I on the other hand, do not need it to be satisfied."

_"I'm married to my work." _

Apparently quite literally.

John notices then that Sherlock is looking at him, expecting some sort of response. He's holding himself straight, as if expecting to be blasted for his unorthodox ways.

John can think of a couple people who would curl their lips and say the word 'Freak.'

"All right."

Surprise flashes over Sherlock's features. "What?"

"All right. I.. sort of understand, well I am trying to. Thank you for explaining it."

John notices the tension in Sherlock disappears, and he seems more relaxed now.

"I'm sorry if I aggravated you," John adds sincerely. "I simply wanted to understand."

Just like the fact the man once did drugs, this is another part of Sherlock that's hard to understand.

"Of course," Sherlock murmurs. "What time is it?"

"Oh, quarter past three."

"Isn't your show on now?"

"What? Oh yes, I suppose I can watch that. Unless you want help finding an interesting murder in the papers."

"No, you watch your telly. If you want to help when your show is done, that's fine."

John nods, and turns the telly back on. His mind is still turning about, but there's a companionable silence between the two of them as he hears the occasional page rustle as his show plays.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Word Count: 2,150**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

**Date: February 21st, Day 22 Continued**

**Location: 221B Baker St**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>John stares at the table.<p>

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock!

"What?"

"We need a new table."

"Why?"

"Because of your bloody experiment!"

"What are you talking about..." John hears Sherlock trailing off as the man stands next to him. "Oh my."

The table is over run with a red liquid that's bubbling out of one of Sherlock's beakers.

"It wasn't supposed to do that."

"The table is ruined."

"I'm sure it can be fixed."

"Sherlock."

The beaker then breaks and the entire table and the instruments on there are covered in the red liquid.

"Well, that's not good."

John closes his eyes and prays for patience. When he opens them he sees Sherlock rushing around to save his precious equipment.

All current good will that was left over from earlier is nearly gone.

"Are you going to help?" Sherlock asks in a irritated manner.

Most likely because one of his experiments didn't go the way he wanted, not because of the damage it's caused.

John doesn't want to help. It's Sherlock's mess.

He sighs and steps into the kitchen to help.

* * *

><p><strong>20 Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"Well, there is some good news," Sherlock comments as John bins the towels.<p>

"We need more towels now."

"Right. At least the rest of my equipment is fine... nothing wrong with any of them. I'll have to figure out what happened though.. maybe I left it too long or perhaps-"

"Sherlock."

"No, no.. couldn't be that... could it? I just put a little-"

John's patience is now gone. "Sherlock!"

"What?"

"We need a new table now! This one can't be used. That stuff, whatever it is, is caked on there and dried. We need a place to eat on."

"We'll get a new one."

"You do know how much tables cost correct?"

"Oh stop worrying, it's just a table."

"Oh for God's sake, you are..." John exhales and walks past Sherlock, grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I need some air."

"Might want to get another table while you're out."

John growls at that, and slams shut the door as he stomps down the stairs.

"Dear, is everything all right? I heard raised voices."

"Fine," John bites out.

"Oh, had a bit of a domestic... I'll talk to Sherlock-" John's mood doesn't want to hear the rest of that, so he just quickly goes outside, shutting the door behind him silencing Mrs Hudson.

When the cool air hits him during his walk he starts to feel bad about being rude to Mrs Hudson, and promises to apologize to her when he goes back.

The thing with the table was just another one of those things. Earlier after that rather revealing chat they had, John found a severed hand in the fridge and another set of eyeballs in the microwave.

Then later on the way to the bathroom, he nearly tripped over some books that Sherlock had just lying about.

So by the time the thing with the table happened, his mood wasn't the greatest.

It was moments like these, like the bad violin playing at three am, that drove John up the wall at times. He really does wonder if Sherlock doesn't realize what he does, or he purposely does it to test.

After a few minutes of walking, John spots a bench and he sits down, breathing in the fresh air.

His mobile rings, and for a moment he thinks about not answering it. But...

"Hello?"

"Well, I was wondering if you were going to answer," a female voice says irritated over the other line.

John should have checked who was calling.

"Harry."

"It's hard to get you on the phone. Only time we seem to talk is on your blog."

Only way he can handle her sometimes.

"Where are you?"

"Home."

Good. Not at a pub.

"Look, Harry, I'm not in the mood for a chat right now-"

"You're never in the mood to chat. I'm your sister, John. I gave you my phone for a reason."

"Because you wanted rid of it."

"What?"

"Clara gave it to you, so you wanted rid of it. Not just because you want me to stay in touch."

"That's.. that's..."

"True, isn't it?"

She huffs on the other end of the line. Thankfully she doesn't sound drunk.

John sighs. "Sorry, Harry.. I didn't mean.. I'm trying not to be combative. Just a bit in a mood right now."

"Got into a tiff with your flatmate?"

"A bit yeah."

"I read your blog, so I'm not surprised. He wouldn't be easy to put up with."

"Sometimes, no."

"You should get a better place then. I told you I have the space available."

No. Absolutely not. He wasn't interested in coming home to a place where he'd have to deal with his drunk of a sister.

"And that silence of course says that won't ever happen."

"You know why."

"I don't have a problem, John."

"How's work?" John sidesteps that landmine.

"Irritating. Thinking about quitting. Thinking about getting another job. Maybe move to London, be closer to you, yeah?"

Oh God no. His sister right now lives in Birmingham, a couple hours away. And since he doesn't have a car, it's the perfect excuse to avoid seeing her.

"You have a good job, Harry."

She snorts.

"At least you have one." He says quietly.

"Haven't gotten one yet? Tried out a surgery?"

"Still looking. My hand..."

"I thought you said the tremor is gone."

"Most of the time.. it still comes back now and then, like that damn limp."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I." John clears his throat. "Listen, I think I've been out long enough. Going to head back now."

"Want to stay on the line with me while you do?"

John chuckles. "Whats this?"

"What? I just want to make sure you get home all right."

"I'll be just fine, Harry."

Silence on the other end.

"Harry?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Be just fine. You're always just fine."

Not always.

"I have to be."

John hears his sister sigh. Her demons, whatever they were, are spinning about. Sometimes he thinks it's his fault. Harry was the troublemaker when they were growing up, so he was the good kid.

Good grades, never talked back, did what he was told, went to school, obeyed curfew, had the type of friends that didn't make his parents worry, because Harry made them worry already. Talking back, cutting school, smoking... thankfully the drinking was hidden from them.. until she moved out.

So he was the good kid. It wasn't until he started training to become a doctor when he starting raising his own brand of hell himself. He just waited until he left home. So his parents wouldn't have to worry.

But he knew his parents kept on asking Harry why she couldn't be like her little brother. And John felt guilty.

Even though he knows it was not his fault.

"I saw Clara yesterday."

John winces.

"How did it go? Or did she see you?"

"She saw me."

"And?"

"It went."

"Ah."

"I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are."

"Your supposed to tell me I'm not."

"Sorry."

"Why did I have to ruin it with her?... Don't answer that, never-mind, I shouldn't be saying this to you. You have your own crap to deal with. Like an insane flatmate."

"He's not insane.. not yet at least."

"No, he's a high functioning sociopath... does he really not know the Earth goes round the sun?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"And he really doesn't know who the Prime Minister is?"

"Not important in his mind."

"Strange."

"Just the way he is."

"I'd like to meet him."

John feels a tremor of terror go through his body at that. Sherlock and his sister meeting? No. No. Absolutely not. It'd be a nightmare. A horror show.

"But I know you'll prevent that from happening."

"It would be for the best."

"He already has an opinion about me doesn't he?"

"No." At least John doesn't think he does. "He hasn't met you."

"I doubt that would stop him."

"I really need to go Harry;"

"All right. Stop avoiding my calls."

"Right."

"Bye John."

"Bye," he murmurs and the ends the call.

Well, that went better than most. John stands, and starts to head back to the flat.

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>John knocks on Mrs Hudson's door, intending to apologize.<p>

She opens it a few minutes later, giving him a hesitant smile. "Hello, dear."

"Just wanted to apologize for my rudeness, Mrs Hudson."

She smiles and pats his cheek. "Forgiven. Now go back upstairs."

John chuckles and kisses her cheek, and heads up the stairwell. He enters through the side door and into the kitchen, coming to a stop.

"Is that a new table?"

Sherlock glances at John as he sets one of his instruments on it. "Mrs Hudson gave it to us. She's getting a new one tomorrow she claims. And she also gave us a few towels as well. "

"Ah.."

"Everything all right?"

"Oh yes... ended up talking to Harry while I was out."

"Must have went well."

John smiles as he watches Sherlock put more items on the table. "Deduced it, did you?"

"Of course."

"It went okay, better than most."

"Well that's always good."

John nods and takes off his coat.

"I have a case. Well maybe. We'll see tomorrow when he stops by."

"Oh?"

"A student. Something about his laptop melting.. I think. He had bad reception when we were talking. Also sounded quite frantic."

"What time is he stopping by?"

"Two. Only time he has between classes it appears. Probably won't be much to solve, if I take it."

John takes a seat in the sitting room. The walk cleared his head, and it was definitely easier to talk to Sherlock. Plus, new table. No money having to be spent on a new one.. not when they need to pay the gas board.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

He hears the sound of beakers clinking and then the man appears in the archway."Yes?"

"Did you and Mycroft ever get on?"

"Probably. Long ago.. when I was a child and didn't know the things I know now."

"Hard to imagine you as a kid..."

"Hmm. So was this question because of Harry's call?"

"I suppose."

"I recall you saying you and Harry don't get on. Never have."

"We have our moments now and then.. but yeah."

"You were the good kid. She was the bad one. Always causing trouble, so you made sure not to cause trouble. Didn't want to worry your parents."

John nods as Sherlock leans against the archway.

"I bet you caused loads of trouble later though."

"When I was in medical school yes, I'll admit that."

"You were away from home, so it was safer. You would not worry your parents with whatever antics you got up to."

"Correct."

Sherlock smiles, obviously satisfied with himself.

"So, Harry rang you up. You said it went better than most. Reminiscing perhaps?"

"Just talking. And then she made an awful suggestion."

"Which would be?"

"The two of you meeting."

Sherlock raises his eyebrows at that, looking disconcerted. "That would.. not be wise I think."

"I thought so as well."

"Be a rather interesting meeting.. but in the end, be best for all parties that your sister and I don't meet." Sherlock turns and goes back to whatever he was doing at the kitchen.

"I know why, but why do you think it would be best?" John asks curiously. Sherlock obviously only knows a little about Harry.. just the few things John told him.

"I like to avoid being disappointed. I already know the one Watson worth knowing."

Well...that was...

Surprising.


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Warning: Bit of language.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

**Date: February 22, Day 23**

**Location: Chelsea College Of Art And Design****

**Time: Late Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John already had a name in mind for this case. He wrote it down on a notepad he now carries with him.<p>

**The Case Of The Melting Laptop.**

It was quite literally melted.

And the student it belonged to was quite near a breakdown when he stopped by the flat to talk to Sherlock.

Lawrence Stephenson. American transplant that had been going to Chelsea College of Art and Design and was going for his BA this year.

Well that is until his laptop, carrying his most recent project that is to be graded soon... melted.

It was obvious another student did it. Melted it. But Lawrence had no idea how it was melted, or who did it.. or why.

And he needed proof so he could get an extension, otherwise in his words;

_"I'm fucked."_

And those words were said in a tone that John was familiar with. Plenty of his university schoolmates said that when they were behind.

For a minute, John thought Sherlock wouldn't take the case. Lawrence and his verging meltdown wouldn't spur him to take it.

But he took it.

Lawrence had gone to his girlfriend's place to try and relax, while the two of them headed off to the college.

Which is where they are now.

"Thank you very much," Sherlock's voice rumbled as he finished speaking with a professor, then turns to John, nods and they start walking.

"Where-"

"We are going to find Lorena Gonzales and Erin Marigold. Two other American transplants that came here at the same time Mr Stephenson did, and they are getting their BA's in the same course- Graphic Design."

"And-"

"According to the dear Professor, the two girls tend to each lunch together at the Relish Sandwich Shop, not too far away. And by now they should be finished. So we can catch them as they are leaving."

"Right. So, I got a question."

"No."

"No what? I haven't even asked-"

"You were going to ask if I finished University. No."

"Why not?"

"Lots of reasons." Sherlock's not looking at him now, just scanning the crowds they are passing through.

"Did you go straight to Uni after you finished secondary?"

"No actually," Sherlock grimaces as one passing student bumps into him. "Once I had the chance, I decided I did not want to go straight to Uni. So I traveled. Germany, Spain, France, Portugal, Italy for examples. Also visited the States for a bit." Sherlock pauses. "And a brief stay in Brazil. Learned quite a bit, learned the languages, enjoyed it all very much."

"How long did you travel?"

"Two years."

"Sounds like you had a fun couple of years then," John felt a bit envious in that. He did some traveling of his own, but not until he joined the Army, and it wasn't as extensive as Sherlock's was.

"I could have had a lot more fun than I did if it hadn't been for the tails I had," Sherlock says, sounding annoyed now. "Mycroft."

"Ah."

"And then Mother tracked me down in.. oh what was it.. Oh yes, I was in New York. She found me there, told me I had done enough traveling and I had to get back to England within a week."

"Why a week?"

"Because term would start in nine days at Trinity College, Cambridge. And she wanted me to have a couple days to get everything sorted."

"I'm amazed you didn't try to argue with her," John comments as they cross the street.

Sherlock smirks. "No one argues with Mother. Well, one can try.. but doubtful one would succeed."

John was getting an interesting look at Sherlock's Mum.

"What did you go into?"

"Natural Sciences. Primarily Biology, Chemistry, and Materials."

"What happened then?"

"What?"

"What happened? What prevented you from getting your degree?"

Sherlock frowns. "Is this important?"

John shrugs. "Just curious."

"Hmm. Well... it's a bit complicated. Lots of factors involved. So let's just say life as a whole prevented it."

That's a word with so many meanings right there.

"Ah, there they are," Sherlock nods and John looks to see two young ladies coming out of the cafe, and John doesn't bother to ask how he knows it's Erin and Lorena.

"Excuse me, ladies," John starts as he hears Sherlock deepen his voice, and offer a bright smile to them. John watches the two girls literally melt in front of him when they finish approaching.

"Erin and Lorena correct?"

"Yes, we are," One of them says, straightening. "And you are?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he holds out his hand as one of them shakes it. "And this is my colleague, Doctor John Watson. Mind if we have a word?"

"Not at all," The blonde says with a starry eyed look.

Poor girls.

Sucked right in.

No defense.

* * *

><p><strong>Half Hour Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"That.. that was..."<p>

"Yes?"

"Did you happen to go into acting as well at some point?"

"No."

"Well, you're quite good at it," John shakes his head as Sherlock takes out his mobile and starts texting.

"All part of the job," he murmurs.

"Right. Well I do think you just crushed some hearts. Again."

"Not my problem."

Right. "So do you think one of them did it?"

"Erin might have...Every time I mentioned Mr Stephenson, jealousy reared it's ugly head. Lorena, we can scratch her off the list. Still would be worth checking out the two young men that Stephenson apparently had not gotten on with."

"That would be... Jonah Brown and Samuel Evans."

"Right. Lorena mentioned that Jonah and Lawrence almost traded punches the other night."

"Now we just need to find them."

Sherlock's mobile buzzes then. He smirks. "Got one. I saw Erin texting Mr Brown the moment Lorena slipped his name. He's willing to meet. Come on."

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>John watched Jonah Brown scatter the moment Sherlock dismissed him. The boy denied flat out to having anything to do with destroying Stephenson's laptop. Their issue with each other was over something else entirely.<p>

_"I'm here on scholarship," he protested just a few minutes ago. "I'm not going to risk my future on something as stupid as that."_

"What melted the computer were several different compounds all together. All painting materials. Separate these chemicals would not melt a laptop, but apparently mix them all together they can. The only way one would get these chemicals is if it was part of their project, such as an Art major at Chelsea. Or.."

John thinks for a minute. "Err... the person could have bought them off the Art major."

"Correct. Would have been cheaper imagine. Also I doubt very much anyone majoring in Art would get into a snit over a Graphic Design major."

"Right. So the only way we would know who did, is if they had any left over-"

"Either on their person, which is highly doubtful, or in student housing."

"We just have to find the right one," John murmurs then sighs.

"No need. A majority of Chelsea's students reside at 24 Sumner St, LSE Bankside House. About a fifteen minute walk, perhaps seven minutes by taxi."

And twenty minutes later, John found himself playing look out while Sherlock broke into rooms. John didn't know how he did it, but he was able to somehow palm a master key card to get into them.

He glances inside the room to see Sherlock crouched down over a dresser drawer and then turns around to watch the hall. So far no one's come down this way yet.

"Ah, shame to leave your laptop here and on," He hears Sherlock say with unrestrained smugness.

"Sherlock.

"Just two more minutes.. ah got it. Easy password. Simple really. Pathetic."

John keeps an eye on his watch, and at the two minute mark he hears Sherlock laugh. A happy one. Got what he wanted apparently.

"Oh, clever girl... get someone else to do your own dirty work..." Sherlock comes out of the room and shuts the door, holding a bag of something, and his mobile.

"Oh?"

"Mr Evans did it, this is his room, but Ms Erin Marigold was the instigator. Just took pictures of the emails Mr Evans did not delete. Apparently Ms Marigold was always one step behind Mr Stephenson and finally had enough. Just didn't want to get her hands dirty. Time to play round up and reveal."

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Mr Holmes, thank you, thank you."<p>

"No need to say it so many times, Mr Stephenson."

"I have to, you got it done so quickly and I don't have to worry now. I'll get my extension and everything will be perfect. I have to admit I was a bit of a wreck."

John bites his cheek to keep himself from revealing what he was thinking. A bit of a wreck?

"Not too bad," Sherlock obviously lies.

"I wish I could pay you for this, Mr Holmes, but all my money is tied up in school..."

"No need Mr Stephenson. I don't take cases for financial incentives."

The student looks relieved at that and John just keeps seeing the bills arriving.. and not getting paid. But he couldn't blame the kid, John was broke a lot when in school too.

Lawrence Stephenson thanks Sherlock a couple times more, then he's distracted by a phone call, giving the two of them the chance to go on their way.

"You look hungry."

Speaking of, John's stomach growls. "Er, yeah. Didn't have breakfast."

"You got up late."

"Because some deliberately bad violin playing kept me up."

"They were arguing again."

Ah Mrs Turner's married ones next door.

"Heard a little bit of it."

"It's hard to concentrate when those two have their rows, so I play."

"Just to irritate them?"

Sherlock smirks as he hails a cab.

"Stupid question," John mutters.

"Indeed. But I will let that one slide. Think of it as a gift"

"I'm honored."

"Knew you would be."

"That was sarcasm, Sherlock."

"I know sarcasm when I hear it. That was me simply ignoring it."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_**This one was a little shorter than most, apologies. Also, regarding Sherlock's traveling. I sort of seeing him, once he was done with his education wanting to travel the world, not really interested in Uni. But only going back because Mummy would finally push him into it (I can see him capitulating so not to upset her, plus stated above one does not argue with Mother Holmes, it does not work. ), so he would start Uni a couple years later than most people his age did, but eventually drop out and not finish.**_

_**Also by definition of Wikipedia Chelsea College of Art and Design, the erstwhile Chelsea School of Art, is a constituent college of the University of the Arts London, and is a leading British art and design institution with an international reputation. A tidbit for those who want to know.**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Warning: PTSD, Violence, Description of Injuries, Allusions to Drug Use**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Author's Note: Below is my attempt to write out a recurring nightmare of John's.. one that is reality of him being wounded in Afghanistan. I've been avoiding writing it so far because I of course can't do it any proper justice, but the urge to write it persists. I only served in the Navy and I was never on the front lines, so one can only imagine what it can be like if one hasn't been. Also I most likely took a few liberties medical wise, so apologies in advance.**

**Also: Sortie: Military term for a surprise attack from the enemy in a town. Once again, anything in bold and italics is a flashback.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Afghanistan.<strong>_

_**John and the others jump off the CH-47 Chinook with their equipment, live fire all around them as they race to where the American and Royal Marines are. The force protection troops around them kept alert, guns out, as they escorted the John who was the A&E specialist on this trip, Doctor Joyce Smith the anesthetist, and the other medics to where the soldiers have been in heavy fire with the enemy for the past half hour.**_

_**Several wounded, according to the report. Several needing to be transported to the field hospital.**_

_**They get to the site, a groups of three buildings in the town that's taken heavy fire from a Sortie on the mixed American and British convoy.**_

_**The smell of blood and moans of agony are not far away. Medics rush to some of those just needing a little attention while John and Doctor Smith are brought into the back of the of the building.**_

_**Six wounded. Varying between ripped off arms and open stomach wounds, to head wounds.**_

_**Three dead.**_

_**John and the other doctor work together quickly on the wounded, then securing them to be transported back to the Chinook to be lifted out. Right after the six wounded are gone, an IED hits the building John and Doctor Smith are in, shaking it's foundations, yet somehow still staying up.**_

_**Ducking fire, and managing to avoid getting shot in all the madness, the two doctors get to the other two buildings, fixing up the wounded enough to be able to be transported, while confirming the dead.**_

_**All in all, (After the two doctors are back in the middle building with the medics, waiting for the the troops to be secure to bring them back to the Chinook), twenty injured, fifteen dead.**_

_**"Hell of a day," Dr Smith grunts as she wipes her brow, the sweat dripping off.**_

_**John nods as he watches the American Marines work in tangent with the Royal Marines. He keeps a close eye on what is obviously a marine sniper. She's set up in an area where she can get the enemy snipers, but if another sniper gets the right vantage point...**_

_**"Going to be insane back at the field hospital," she says.**_

_**"True," John murmurs, but strangely doesn't feel guilty about why. He's glad it'll be busy, it gives him the chance to put his skills to use, to do his job. To heal and save lives.**_

_**Another explosion shakes the building and he feels Dr Smith tense up next to him. Shouts and fire being exchanged continues. John, despite being a doctor, itches to take out his his service gun. He still hasn't used it yet.. it's a good thing.**_

_**"So, heard you went to the firing range."**_

_**"The American Marine wanted to see how good of a shot an army doctor could be."**_

_**"Heard you impressed him."**_

_**Despite the situation they were in, John smiles. "Apparently I'm a crack shot."**_

_**"A natural too, according to the Marine."**_

_**John shrugs. It's not important. His attention moves from the conversation to the American sniper. She left her spot and has started moving carefully to another. She glances back at them then, she smirks, and continues moving.**_

_**She starts up the stairs, heading to the roof it appears, joining the Royal Marine sniper that John and Dr Smith had briefly checked on. He had only gotten grazed by a rival sniper, but refused to go anywhere.**_

_**"How-"**_

_**Before Doctor Smith gets her question out, John hears two voices yelling and twists to see the two snipers, the American holding the Royal Marine against her as they come down the stairs. Blood is coming out of the man's lower leg.**_

_**"Six of them on other ends, cover blown, had to retreat, he got shot as we were moving," the American says in quick rapid fire sentences, as John works on the man. He's able to block out the noise once more as more fire is exchanged, concentrating solely on the man.**_

_**"Name and rank," John orders the Royal Marine, trying to keep his attention of his wound.**_

_**"Major...Terrence... Adams," he groans out. "Stupid... higher vantage point... didn't see..."**_

_**"Don't worry about that now," John orders. "So Major Adams, any family?"**_

_**"Fiance."**_

_**"You'll be seeing her soon," John promises. The wound in the Royal Marine's leg was not as bad as some. He won't lose the leg, but the Marine's career as a sniper is most definitely likely to be over.**_

_**Once done, John lets Doctor Smith inject a pain killer in the Marine and a medic takes over. He starts to stand, to move over when the American Marine sniper next to him suddenly pushes him down to the ground.**_

_**Shots are exchanged, and John looks up to see the female sniper standing in front of him, using her sniper rifle to shoot at four attackers who were shooting at where John and Doctor Smith were.**_

_**"Move back" She shouts at them. "We're getting ready to retreat, airstrike coming soon, move back," she continues and then her words are cut off as John sees three shots go into the female sniper's right leg and she goes down.**_

_**John doesn't hesitate, he reaches forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to him. As he does, he uses his free hand to grab his service pistol. He takes a few seconds to aim and then fires, shooting twice at two targets and hitting them, then turns his attention back to the marine. He needs to treat the leg before he goes anywhere, get her secure, make her ready for transport.**_

_**"What's your name? Rank?" John says loudly to her, to try and keep her attention on him and off her leg. So much damage.. the bullets tore through her leg, leaving large gaping wounds... he could tell it hit nerve, shattered bone... Her right knee is done for. She won't be able to properly walk again...if she makes it.**_

_**She'll make it, John promises to himself as he works on her leg, letting Doctor Smith inject her with a painkiller to help ease the pain.**_

_**"Captain... Leah... Carson..." she gasps. "What.. about... you...?"**_

_**"Captain John Watson-"**_

_**Crack!**_

_**Pain in the shoulder, muscles screaming, bone cracking.**_

_**Pain in the head.**_

_**Darkness.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 28th, Day 29<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: Unknown**

* * *

><p>John jerks awake, panting, a shout escaping him but he swallows back the rest.<p>

His heart is pounding, head swimming, his shoulder aching.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to make the images go away.

Once Afghanistan and that day fades to the recesses in the back of his mind, he collapses, shaking. He balls his left hand into a fist, feeling the tremors shake through his arm and into the fingers.

His right leg aches, and he knows if he tries to walk now, he'll need the bloody cane.

He inhales, exhales.

Does it three times.

He's at 221B Baker Street.

He's not in Afghanistan.

He swallows, his free hands digging into the sheets.

When he came to, after the chaos, after being told he was shot in the shoulder, after everything, John asked about the two snipers.

Major Terence Adams of the Royal Marines was shot in the calf, and would recover. The possibility of remaining a sniper was a wait and see.

Captain Leah Carson... was not so lucky. Due to John's quick treatment, she lived. However the damage was so severe, that nothing could be done to save the leg.

Her career was definitely over.

John winces as guilt makes an appearance. He made a stupid mistake, a mistake that he never should have made and had been trained NOT to, and ended up becoming a target which ultimately cost a young marine her career.

Even though he had been told repeatedly that it was not his fault, he still felt it was.

John swallows. He hadn't had this dream in a while. He had plenty of others.. but not this one.

He knew why though.

He left the letter downstairs.

Leah Carson was in London.

And she wanted to meet.

John got the letter today.

After another long day.

A very trying week too.

Sherlock was getting restless. And he wasn't handling it well this time. His mood had gone black, his violin playing (thankfully not going on now) was excruciating, and John was barely able to handle being around him for more than ten minutes.

No cases.

And three days ago Sherlock's mood went from restless to foul after John came back from another unsuccessful job hunt. Mycroft was leaving just as he came to the building.

Plus two of his experiments weren't going the way he liked.

Also to add onto it all, apparently Molly Hooper was on vacation. Her replacement was apparently very by the rules and didn't care if Sherlock had access to the morgue... she didn't let him have any.

So all in all... Sherlock was not a happy person.

He literally stopped talking...two days ago.

_"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end.. would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."_

Worst.

Hah.

John was just glad Sherlock hadn't found his gun...

Hell.

He needs to use the loo.

John sighs.

He grimaces as he gets to his feet, his right leg protesting.

John wasn't the only one that needed a case. He needed one to come along so his flatmate wouldn't end up burning down the flat. He rather liked it, and wanted it to be in one piece.

John refuses to grab his cane, and forces himself to go down the stairs without, even though it kills his leg. There's silence right now, so he has to be quiet.. If Sherlock is asleep, he doesn't want to wake the man making his black mood even more blacker.

He comes to a stop in the kitchen however, as he sees Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, a half eaten biscuit next to him and a cup of tea.

Ah.

Sherlock seems subdued though, staring resolutely at his laptop. John doesn't say anything, just limps past him, and down to the hall to take care of his needs.

A few minutes later he re enters the kitchen, Sherlock still at the table. This time however there is another biscuit and a cup of tea on the opposite side.

A peace offering?

John grunts as he takes a seat, knowing he's not going to be able to get any sleep soon.

"Anonymous is being annoying."

"Is that right?" John murmurs. "So you made tea?"

"I can make tea."

"Just choose not to right?"

A slight smile in response.

"May have a case."

"Is that right?" John figures that may be why Sherlock seems to have calmed down.

Sherlock nods. "Rather late message, but her name is Tilly Briggs. Something to do with a pleasure cruiser. She'll be stopping by in two days."

"Ah."

"And thankfully, Molly will be returning tomorrow."

"No wonder you're in a good mood then. And talking."

"I did warn you."

"Yes, yes you did," John admits before taking a bite of his biscuit. He feels Sherlock's penetrating eyes on him. "What is it?"

"Everything all right?"

"Fine."

"I saw the letter."

John grimaces. His fault for having it lie around. Although how she knew where he lived surprised him. "I don't want to hear it Sherlock. Just.. not now."

"All right." Sherlock goes back to his laptop.

John watches the man for a few minutes, questions burning in his head. Anything to keep his mind off..

"You got questions."

John smiles slightly. "Yes. Not sure how to ask them though."

"You asked me about my sex life, what's so hard about this?"

John snorts, then chuckles. "Well.. it depends, on whether or not the question is a tetchy subject."

"Never know unless you ask."

John nods. "In the past... certain things have been said that well make me curious," he can't bring himself to look at Sherlock now. "It started the night you got me involved in the serial suicides and now and then little things were brought up-"

"John," Sherlock says in a patient voice, and John looks back at the man, his gaze locking with Sherlock's. Dark blue eyes meeting pale blue.

John knows his eyes reveal that he had demons. Sherlock's eyes reveal that as well, but no one ever dares to look at them for too long. Same with John.

"Ask."

"You did drugs."

Sherlock's eyes suddenly shutter. They darken a little. "That was.. not a question."

"No it wasn't."

"Because someone already told you."

John nods. "But not everything. Your story to tell."

"Hmm."

"Why?"

Sherlock twines his fingers together and places his chin on them, elbows on the table. "You are asking me why I did them?"

John nods. "Someone as brilliant as you... why? How? What happened?"

"Quid pro quo, John."

"Pardon?"

"We've been flatmates for how long now?"

"Nearly a month. Bloody feels a lot longer though."

"Colleagues... and friends."

"You say the word as if it's strange."

"It is. You consider me a friend?"

"When I'm not annoyed with you. When you're not being a total arse."

Sherlock smiles. "So, don't friends trade stories?"

John starts to get the idea where he's going with this. "Yes..."

"I want to know something about you too."

"Really? You want me to tell you? You don't want to deduce it? Or perhaps read the file that Mycroft has on me."

"You think he does."

"No doubt he got one put together the moment he heard we were flatmates."

"No doubt. But yes, there is something I want you to tell me."

"How did this get turned around?" John asks suddenly. "I asked you about why you did drugs and you're turning this around to me."

"I want to know about Afghanistan."

Oh.

Everything inside John closes up. And he knows Sherlock notices it.

"Yes, see now?"

"See what?" John says tightly.

"We have parts of our past... parts that you and I want to know about. When you're ready to tell me about Afghanistan, I'll tell you why I did cocaine."

John scowls. He should have seen it coming. "It's not easy to talk about Sherlock. Not that simple."

"And yet you want me to tell you about a specific time in my life... So quid pro quo, Doctor John Watson. You obviously are not ready to talk about yours, which I understand."

John lets out a shaky breath.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," John admits.

"Then you'll never know the answers to your questions on my part." Sherlock says, sounding a bit disappointed now. John wonders if it's disappointment in him.

"So, at a standstill."

"It looks like. So when you are ready to tell me of your time in Afghanistan, John Watson," Sherlock says to him as he stands up, "I will then tell you about the whys and hows of my past involvement with cocaine."

Even though he has the burning curiosity to know, John has a feeling that may be a while.

"I'm going to bed," Sherlock murmurs. "Sleep well."


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Author's Note: In the last post on John's blog, he refers to a couple cases he was going to write up about. My last chapter had the one about the melted laptop. This one is about his reference what really happened to Tilly Briggs pleasure cruiser. Just my own idea on what may have happened. Hope you enjoy.**

**Plus, thanks to all so far who have been reading, enjoying and commenting. I appreciate this, and your comments help shape my writing.**

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**Date: March 2nd**

**Time: Late Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John watches as the woman, a Ms Tilly Briggs, paces through the sitting room. Sherlock is watching as well. He hasn't said much since she came in, just been observing her in his usual manner.<p>

The moment she arrived, John saw the stress reaching out of Ms Briggs as if it was blanket wrapped tight around her. She started to pace the moment she told her story.

"I am telling you that it is sabotage," She says after about five minutes of explaining. "I don't care what anyone else says. These are not accidents. I'm losing clients because of this mess, and if it continues I'll be out of a company in a month," she says, the stress of everything involving her company evident in her features.

"How long ago did the incidents start?" John asks as Sherlock was staying silent, merely watching the Ms Briggs as she paced.

"What? Oh.. uh, about two months after I started the cruises. But it was small things, so I never really put it together. Basically just things that were bound to happen with a new company. That was seven months ago. I didn't start putting anything together though until all these incidents got closer together. In the last month alone, I've had five cruises end disastrously. From equipment breaking down to food poisoning."

"They have escalated," Sherlock murmurs. "First to your boats, then to your clients."

"The food poisoning was the last straw for me. I have the money to replace the equipment, but I can't replace clients. Seven of them hospitalized with salmonella poisoning, including my chef. You were recommended to me, Mr Holmes, by a Sylvia Warrington."

"I see. I always had the feeling she didn't care for me, never would have thought Ms Warrington would do so."

What did Sherlock do? Most of the people he helped seemed to be quite willing to talk him up to John whenever he met them.

"She did say a couple other things about you, but she added that you worked quickly and found solutions faster than anyone else. I need that. I haven't done a cruise in two weeks since the salmonella poisoning, but I'm preparing for one tomorrow. Whoever is doing the sabotage is one of my crew. I need you there."

Later That Night

"Brochure mistakes. Website listing wrong contact information," John hears Sherlock mutter as the consulting detective is going through the file that Tilly Briggs left for them. Everything that happened was listed in there.

"First chef quitting. Permits delayed. "

"Cruiser number one, failed engine. Cruiser number two, kitchen equipment malfunctions. Cruiser number three, fire in engine room."

"Certainly sounds like all the growing pains that come with getting a company up and running," John says as he sets a cup of tea down next to Sherlock and then sits down himself. He turns on the telly, mindful to keep the volume low.

"Each incident then staggered, helping the illusion. Then as her company gets popular, the incidents happen more frequently. Engine malfunctioning during the actual ride on one, then two days later, the kitchen is flooded in number 2."

"She certainly has a different sort of pleasure cruiser company,"John murmurs. "Not many offer catered meals."

"Her cruisers are also a bit larger than most.. she's more of a party pleasure company. Notice the times for her rides on her brochures?"

"Yeah, all start after five."

"Right, so night cruises. More privacy to have your party. Let's see... out of all her employees, only six would seem likely. The ones that work on the cruisers during the rides, and they have access to everywhere."

"Maybe it's the competition?"

"Possibility. More likely. Always seems to be in cases like this, when sabotage is the game. Unless it is her ex husband."

John frowns. "But she's married. I saw the ring on her finger. Unless she got married again-"

"No, she's divorced. She wears the ring to ward off interest. Woman like her would not wear a plain wedding band. Most likely has a lover though, if that bracelet on her left wrist is to say anything."

"Right. So the ex husband a possibility?"

Sherlock nods. "While you were at Tesco's I talked to one of her brother. Messy divorce. Recent. In fact nearly a year ago. She came out on top in all of it."

"So could be his way of settling the score."

"Hmm. Either way, we will be finding out the culprit tomorrow night. Hopefully before the ride goes into full swing."

"I got a question."

"Another?"

"Why would you think this Ms Warrington not recommend you?"

Sherlock pauses and looks over at John. "She didn't care for the truth."

"And that was?"

"That her favorite grandson was the thief."

"Has to be more than that."

"Or that her son was helping her favorite grandson steal from her."

"Ah. No, I suppose those are two things one would not want to know."

"Another example of how someone refuses to take their blinders off."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Gravesend, Kent<strong>

**Date: March 3rd, 4:35 pm**

* * *

><p>"Just in time," Tilly Briggs greets them as John and Sherlock get out of the car. "I was starting to worry."<p>

"Traffic," John explains as Sherlock nods to the woman and then walks past Tilly Briggs, not bothering to greet her.

"Not terribly social is he?" Tilly says watching him.

"Only when it suits him."

"Well, I didn't come to him for his ability to socialize, so I shouldn't ponder on that. So, any ideas on who may be behind it."

"Sherlock came to one or two theories, but nothing concrete," John says as they walk towards the cruiser that was getting prepared for the party ride. "One possibility is a rival company."

"Well I can tell you that would be a no. I'm the only one in this area."

"Ah. Well the other is your ex husband."

She purses her lips. "Good possibility. But I haven't seen him at all since the divorce. No calls, no letters, so stopping by to harass me."

"Could be someone he paid then," Sherlock says abruptly, appearing next to them. "Any new employees?"

"Other than my temporary chef, no. All of them have been with me since I started, even Katrina."

"Katrina?" John asks.

"Katrina Delmar, good friend. She stayed out of the way during the divorce, but came back when it was over. She wasn't too keen on the idea of a party pleasure cruiser, but I was able to talk her into it."

"And she would be..."

"The redhead looking like she's about to slap my mechanic," Tilly Briggs points off in one direction.

"Ah, excellent. Excuse me," Sherlock immediately walks off, and John is torn between following him or staying with Tilly.

"Let me show you around," She slips her hand onto his elbow, making up John's mind, but the doctor makes sure to keep Sherlock in his eyesight.

No need for any unnecessary trouble.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Tilly's Pleasure Cruiser<strong>

**Time: A little past six...**

* * *

><p>John was going to kill him.<p>

If what was happening now didn't kill Sherlock first.

Or kill them all.

"Time to go." Sherlock says in a mild tone.

John grabs Tilly Briggs hand, and they run to the other side of the main deck, the only part untouched, as the other passengers have scattered over there.

Sherlock comes to a halt to where the life boat is. "Well, that is not surprising. Only one Ms Briggs?"

"Only one."

"Well then, how well can you swim, Ms Briggs?"

"Decently, if the occasion calls for it."

"John?"

"I can swim."

"Good. Because the occasion calls for it."

* * *

><p><strong>Time: 8pm<strong>

**Location: Land. Thankfully.**

* * *

><p>John shivers in the blanket that the medic placed around his shoulders. Sherlock and Tilly Briggs also doing so. The water was bloody cold, and his shoulder is aching to all hell.<p>

In the distance, Tilly's boat is burning. The firefighters can't get to it of course, too far out. But someone will get to it in time.

Emergency services are tending to the others, making sure everyone is okay. Police making barricades to keep the reporters at bay.

John already finished making his statement to one of the uniforms, a pretty brunette with brown eyes. He wanted to ask for her number, but had to remind himself it wasn't the place.

Pity.

Another uniform is getting Sherlock and Tilly's statements about what happened on the cruiser.

Luckily only Tilly had made sure this was a small party, so only ten passengers, plus the three of them had to escape into the water.

The life boat was useless due to Delmar punching holes in it.

"How cliche," Tilly mutters through her shivering. "I should have seen it."

Katrina Delmar was seeing Tilly's ex husband.. apparently had been the one he was having an affair with. She was jealous that Tilly came out on top in the divorce, and wanted to make her pay. Especially after Tilly's ex dumped her the moment the divorce was final. And then kicked her out.

She blamed Tilly for it all.

Of course during the confrontation, Sherlock didn't word it like that.

He used words like obsession, psychosis, her issues with her father (How he got that, John doesn't know), and her lack of mental capacity.. among other things.

And he had to do it while she was holding a lighter to the main deck and the kitchen she soaked in petrol.

Then he had to say it...

"Richard dumped you because it was no longer fun. He most likely told you it was fun while it lasted, but there was no point in continuing. He then most likely told you that the only reason he had the affair with you was because it was convenient, as he didn't want to pay for it. You wasted three years of your life on him and he tossed it away like it was nothing. Yet you blame Tilly Briggs. Quite pathetic, don't you think?"

"Sherlock."

Nothing. Sherlock's already done with his statement, but he's staring off. Ignoring John,

As if he knows what John is going to say.

"Sherlock."

He sighs, acting very put upon, tightening the blanket around him. For once he's not actually protesting it. "Yes?"

"You and I need to have a discussion on what to say to people who are holding a match to petrol."

"Why? I doubt that type of scenario will happen again."

Tilly Briggs snorts in response. John was wondering if she was in shock, or just able to take things well. One of her boats were burning, her best friend turned out to be a bit of a nutter (Although John thinks perhaps a year of proper therapy might help her... might) and she had to escape into the water, most likely ruining her clothes... and she wasn't upset.

Or maybe she was just good at hiding it.

"Well how about this, we need to have a discussion on what not to say to mentally unstable people. Especially people who are very close to causing bodily harm. In the future it may save us from instances like this."

Sherlock sighs. John already knows what the madman is going to say next.

"Where is the fun in that?"

Yeah. He said it.

"Well," Tilly speaks up before John can figure out what to say to that. "I have to say, despite having one cruiser catch on fire, I am glad that Katrina was caught. Maybe she'll get the help she needs now." She looks at Sherlock. "You certainly do get the job done."

"I told you I would."

"Yes. But your results.. can be a little... less than desired."

"I know someone that can work wonders on fire damage, he may be able to repair your cruiser."

"I'll take that recommendation then. However, despite the circumstances, despite your quick work Mr Holmes, don't expect payment. I'll recommend you to those I know who might need you in the future."

Sherlock smirks. "Fair trade."

"Good."

John can't bring himself to protest. Sherlock may not care for incentives, John does though.. but he honestly cannot argue. Sherlock caught her saboteur, but he also caused said saboteur to set a fire.

Suddenly there is a mutter from Sherlock, one that does not sound good.

John looks over to see Sherlock scowling at his mobile.

"What?" John asks warily, actually glad he forgot his mobile. Left it at the flat thanks to be hurried out by Sherlock.

"I have to get a new mobile."

Oh no.

"Looks like I'll have to use yours until I get one."

Shite.


	18. Chapter 18

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>March 5th, Day 34<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>"Keep your head tilted," John instructs Sherlock, as he leans against the police car, keeping a handkerchief on his nose.<p>

"I know how to treat a bloody nose," He hears Sherlock grumble with that slight tinny sound one comes from having a stuffed nose. Or if you have a bloody nose.

And the deliverer of the bloody nose is currently being remonstrated by Lestrade. John keeps hearing the words "lack of decorum," and "unprofessional" and what he is sure Sherlock's favorite "utter prat."

Donovan was smirking in their general direction however.

No doubt enjoying the scene.

John's opinion was nosediving quite quickly of Sally Donovan. Another step backward. He doesn't mind her as a cop. She can do her job, and DI Lestrade has praise for her at that.

Outside of being a cop, not much to like right now.

"He does not punch very hard," Sherlock comments dryly.

"He punched hard enough to give you a bloody nose."

"Hmm."

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Do you deliberately go out of your way to hack off Anderson?"

"He brings it on himself with his complete and utter stupidity."

Another crime scene. Another round of being insulted. A typical night for Sherlock. John of course, just part of audience.

But even John could see that Anderson was off about this latest scene. But he didn't say anything. Not his place to.

Sherlock didn't hesitate.

And when Anderson objected, Sherlock let loose with a few comments in an undertone that only Anderson could hear.

By the current situation, those words pushed Anderson over the edge.

Next thing Lestrade and John knew, Anderson was swinging and Sherlock had a bloody nose.

John leans against the car next to Sherlock. John had half expected everyone at the crime scene to react with some sort of happiness that Sherlock bloody Holmes finally got whalloped. But no, most of them were outright aghast and looking at Anderson with irritation and disappointment. Sally Donovan was the only one smug about it.

John got the feeling (while watching the current dramatics play out in front of him) that while Sherlock is of course not well like by the Yard, most of them are not openly hostile to him. Unlike Donovan and Anderson. The others may not like him, but they keep it to themselves and they let him do his work here.

John and Sherlock watch Anderson being remonstrated until it is over, and Anderson goes back into the house, followed by Donovan. Lestrade then comes over to the two of them.

"Sherlock."

"If you are worried about me pressing charges, don't."

A flash of relief goes past the DI's features. "Ah.. well, then I apologize for Anderson," he says awkwardly. "I don't know what you said to him though, but really Sherlock you need to stop with him."

"When I'm able to do my job without his ignorant prattle rattling about, then I will."

Lestrade inhales. "Look, I know you and he don't get on-"

"I came here at your request, Lestrade," Sherlock says, his voice turning icy cold. John glances over at him curiously. He's heard him smug, dismissive, to the point, blunt, exasperated, often frustrated with the DI, but not like this. "I have nearly always come at your request when you need help with your crimes. I do so without complaint. I do so because I want to. It is not my problem if he does not like me, I do not help you to be liked." He removes the handkerchief from his nose, sniffs a couple times, and then bins it in one of the bins by the gate of the home.

"I am done here however, so John and I will get a taxi. As for your victim, you may want to talk to the boyfriend."

"How do you know he's just a boyfriend? And why him?"

"Because I said so," Sherlock counters. "Because he obviously lives there, presence of a man all over that house, yet she has no ring on her finger," he continues, his words coming out in furious rush that John even has trouble keeping up.

"He is also the cigar smoker as someone like her would not be one, and there is a half of one left in the ash tray in the hallway. Also if you take a look at her laptop that was at her desk, and the open website was Crime-stoppers. Specifically about a man who had been plaguing the locals with multiple robberies and muggings where five people have died in them, being stabbed with a poker iron of all things. Which is why you called me in, because you saw how she died, which was in a similar vien. The boyfriend saw her on the website, noticed she had also written down the number, and from the looks of her mobile she was starting to dial it. So he panicked, hit her, took the poker iron and stabbed her. Poker iron is not here, and neither is the man. I suggest you go fetch your killer, Detective Inspector," he finishes, then spins around and heads off.

John glances at the DI, murmurs an apology for Sherlock's rudeness, and with a few quick strides, catches up to him. They walk in silence for a couple minutes, until they get to a corner, and Sherlock looks up and down for a possible coming taxi.

"Not going to go after him yourself? Where is the fun in that?" John teases to break the silence.

"Boring."

"Prefer chasing after serial killers?"

"They prove to be more challenging."

"So you already know where he is?" John frowns. "Hey, why didn't you mention the empty bottle of Vodka next to the cigar?"

"Ahh, I was wondering when you would catch on. So you noticed it did you?" Sherlock raises his arm to hail the taxi coming near. "So where do you think someone who is a cigar aficionado and has a taste for straight vodka would go after he just killed his girlfriend?"

"Don't know." John instinctively denies the answer.

Sherlock looks at him impatiently. "You are being purposely obtuse," he complains as the taxi comes to a stop.

"A bar," John mutters.

"Not just any bar."

"A vodka bar." Harry's favorite.

Sherlock smirks and snaps out an address to the cabbie. A few minutes later, they pull uop to a bar called Revolution Vodka Bar.

"I thought we weren't chasing after killers today."

"We are not. But I think Lestrade would like a little heads up if possible. Hold the cab, I'll be back in a minute." Sherlock steps out of the cab, and quickly heads to the bar, pausing briefly to show an id to the lady at the door. John bets it's Lestrade's ID.

Just like Sherlock said, he comes out a minute later. He's texting on John's mobile, as his will be coming in two more days.

"All set," he announces and gets back in the cab. "221B Baker Street, please."

The rest of the evening went quietly, although there was a look of satisfaction in Sherlock when the news reported that an arrest had finally been made in the Poker Iron Killings.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: March 7th, Day 35<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker St**

**Time: Late Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John trudges up the stairs with the groceries. He's partially annoyed at having to the shopping again, as once more they were out of the necessities.<p>

Yet a certain someone never does the shopping.

Plus the chip and pin machine was being a nuisance again. He was seriously starting to dislike it.

As he opens the door he comes to a stop to see Sherlock and an older gentlemen, dressed in a suit talking. But both stop when they see John.

"Sorry to interrupt." John excuses himself and heads into the kitchen to put away the shopping.

"I best be off," he hears the man say quietly. "You helped me last time Mr Holmes, and did it in a timely manner without any scandal. It's why I've come to you about this. I know you'll be able to take care of it."

"Of course," Sherlock says quietly. "You will hear from me."

"Good."

John listens to the door close and he sets the last of the food away and then steps into the sitting room.

"Case?"

"Yes, but this time John I will have to keep you out of it. This one is on the sensitive side, and the less people involved the better. He took a risk coming to me."

"Considering that getting things done quietly isn't your usual way," John says dryly.

"I am capable of doing it," Sherlock retorts.

"Well whatever it is, you ring me if you get into a spot of trouble." Sherlock's mobile arrived this morning, and when John left to get the shopping done, he saw Sherlock playing with it.

Sherlock scoffs. "Anyone tell you that you act like a parent sometimes?" He asks, putting on his long coat and scarf.

"I feel like it sometimes," John mutters, turning to go into the kitchen to make some tea. He could use a cuppa. He stops as he sees a kettle on the stove.

"Sherlock."

"Might not want to use that, borrow Mrs Hudson's," He calls out as he shuts the door.

John sighs. He takes a step closer to the kettle, and lifts the top to look in...

And quickly lowers the top and backs away.

He is not going to figure out what that is. And he makes a mental note to buy a new tea kettle.

John opens the side door. "Mrs Hudson!"

* * *

><p><strong>Date: March 8th<strong>

**Time: 5 pm**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Still working.<em>**

**_SH_**

Sherlock sent that text six hours ago.

John hasn't gotten anything back yet.

Sherlock didn't come back to the flat last night. And John hasn't heard anything from him except for that text.

Whatever this case Sherlock got yesterday, it was obvious that Sherlock was determined to keep John out of it, even if he was in trouble.

John had called several hospitals an hour ago. No one matching Sherlock's descriptions. Lestrade hadn't heard or seen Sherlock at the Yard.

Only thing John hadn't done was call the morgues. He wasn't keen on that.

There was no one else he could contact. He didn't know how to contact Mycroft.. and he figured Mycroft had some sort of surveillence on Sherlock at times. If Sherlock got into any sort of trouble, no doubt Mycroft would know first.

**Two Hours Later**

John opens the door and steps inside, and he's hit with a foul stench.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

Just as John is about to go up the stairs to the flat, after having a long walk to try to get rid of the worry, his mobile buzzes.

_**I hope you have a dull sense of smell.**_

**_SH_  
><strong>

Finally, something from him. John takes the stairs two at a time, the odor worse and he damn near gags as he enters the flat.

Sherlock's sitting in a chair, looking a right foul mess, and stinking up the chair he is sitting in and the whole flat.

"Mrs Hudson is going to be upset," John pinches his nose.

"She's going to be upset?" Sherlock drawls in a tired voice, not lifting his head. "She wasn't the one that had been standing in mud, muck, filth, and garbage for half a day."

"I can smell that. Sherlock, you need to shower. You're stinking up the whole flat!"

"I will when I get the energy to get up and walk to the shower. It was quite the ordeal getting here. No taxi would stop for me." Sherlock sighs. "I'll have to burn the clothes. Shame. I liked this suit."

"Pity."

"I need you to send a text."

"Where's your mobile?"

"Safe and unharmed. I was able to keep it from being soiled like me. On the desk."

John, still keeping his nose pinched, and taking shallow breaths goes over to the desk and picks up the mobile.

"The number is on the note."

John glances at the number, and puts it in.

"Done yet?"

"Hang on! I'm doing this one handed."

Sherlock sighs and John rolls his eyes.

"These words exactly: Found them. 'Pick up tomorrow. Scandal averted.' Then send it."

John nods, typing it in as quick as he can with one hand, and then presses send.

"Are you going to tell me why you stink like..."

"Later."

"Right."

First," Sherlock grimaces, and when he stands it's as if a whole new aroma seems to come out of nowhere, John's gag reflex nearly fails him. "A shower."

Four things run through John's mind as he watches the man walk away.

First, that no type or amount of odor remover will get rid of this god awful stench in one fell swoop.

Two, he would have to badger Sherlock into getting himself looked at to make sure he didn't get anything from whatever he was in for a half a day.

And three. someone owed Sherlock in a huge way now.

And last, he was very, very, very, glad he was not involved in the case.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Nothing major pops up in this chapter**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**March 6th, Day 35**

* * *

><p>Even with Mrs Hudson's help of fans, and the added benefit of air fresheners, the stench was still strong.<p>

Sherlock and John spent most of their time down at Mrs Hudson's when she finally gave in and called a cleaning company that would be able to help with the odor. Somehow her flat was spared the stench that lit up the rest of the house.

Unfortunately they were booked until the ninth.

She scolded Sherlock for about ten minutes, then fussed over them for a half hour.

Until then, they had a flat they could hardly stand to be in for more than couple minutes.

The stench even somehow reached upstairs to John's bedroom. So he couldn't even escape up there.

March 8th, Day 37

Mrs Hudson had kindly let them crash in her place for the next two nights. Sherlock on her sofa, John in her spare bedroom. At first he tried to get Sherlock to take the bed, as the sofa was short, but Sherlock refused. Although she scolded Sherlock up and down for what happened.

Luckily the odor had faded enough by now that they could stay in their flat without John's gag reflex getting some more practice. It was a bit faint, but they could live with it.

John and Sherlock still didn't say much to each other beyond comments about tea and the fact that there was heart in the fridge. Sherlock was mainly going through some sort of fit of finding himself in a situation that he was in prior.

John called it sulking. The great consulting detective somehow forced to stay in filth for hours on end, having to burn one of his favorite suits, and his flat smelled like what he was in... he was sure Sherlock would have liked to put that behind him, yet the evidence was still there, however faintly.

Then the cleaning company arrived. And the boys were banished for the next few hours.

And then... and then at one am.. the violin came out.

John had braced himself for the bad playing, knowing that earlier Sherlock had a run in with the married couple next door.

But thankfully, it wasn't. John fell asleep to what he thinks was Mozart**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**March 10th, Day 39**

**Time: Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John eats a chip, reading an article in the newspaper. In another spot in the kitchen, Sherlock was doing something with his beakers.<p>

By now the smell had faded completely. The chair reupholstered, and Sherlock bought a new suit.

"They were photographs," Sherlock says.

John knew he was referring to the case then. He gets up and goes over to the kettle, pouring himself a cuppa. "I thought it was all a need to know sort of thing."

"At the time, yes. I know you are more than capable at keeping things to yourself of course, I was just being cautious."

"You? Cautious? Never."

"I have been known to exercise caution now and then," Sherlock drawls.

"So far I don't think I have seen evidence of that."

"Just because you don't see it, does not mean it is not there," Sherlock retorts.

"So, the case?" John brings it back, not wanting to get Sherlock started on the lack of observation of humanity.

"Blackmail. Photographs being used for it. A situation that was entirely harmless, but if you look through a cameras lens, it looks like something else entirely."

"Hmm. So this man is in some sort of position then?"

"He's a DCI," Sherlock states.

Detective Chief Inspector.

Oh...well...

"I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

John notices the beginnings of a smile.

"So if the photographs got out.."

"Marriage down the toilet. Career as well. His prior cases before promotion most likely would have been reviewed... the usual. Despite it being innocent, it would have been perceived as entirely something else."

"So he needed you to get them?"

Sherlock nods. "Helped him out in a prior incident regarding his son and I was able to do without the media finding out. So he knew he could come to me."

John nods. "How long ago were the photographs taken?"

"Several years ago, when he was still a Detective Sergeant."

"And the blackmailer chose now?"

"He wanted an investigation dropped."

"So he used the photographs... right. Well can't now, can he?"

"Especially since I ensured he couldn't retrieve the originals or make copies." Sherlock sounds smug now.

"I hate to bring up a distasteful memory, Sherlock but how did you end up well.. you know."

Sherlock huffs in disgust. "A chase."

"A chase caused you to end up smelling like-"

"A chase caused a miscalculation in a jump which resulted in me finding myself in a skip," Sherlock finishes sourly.

"And you stayed in it for hours, why exactly?"

"It was not a good area. I waited until the activity died down and then carefully climbed out."

"Right."

"So, you have the story."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**March 12th, Day 41**

**Mid Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John abruptly closes the oven door. Counts to ten. Then opens it.<p>

Yes.. yes it is definitely in there.

No he is not seeing things.

Yes, he dearly wishes he was.

This is what he gets for thinking Sherlock may actually cook. He quietly closes the oven door and then goes to stand in the archway between the two rooms.

Sherlock is just sitting there, reading from one of the several large books of criminology he has. He had earlier gone to a book store and came back with about seven books.

John's figured out why Sherlock needs a flatmate to help pay the rent. Because the money the dark haired man does have goes to other things except the bloody rent and bills.

"Sherlock," John says firmly. He waits a few beats. "Sherlock!"

"What is it now?"

"Why is.. why does the oven have a-?

"I'm researching the affects certain temperatures have on dead skin," Sherlock says without looking up.

"Is it for any new case that has come your way?"

He hears another one of those dramatic 'I'm suffering' sighs. "No."

"Sherlock, it's the oven."

"I told you I needed to know how certain temperatures..."

"Sherlock."

"It's research, John."

"A hand. In. The. Bloody. Oven."

"It's an experiment!"

"Use something else! Not what we cook the food in!"

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Coffee Shop<strong>

**March 13, Day 42**

**Time: A little after 1 pm.**

* * *

><p>"A hand. In the oven." Mike tilts his head at that and shakes his head. "Well, I really have nothing to say to that."<p>

"Better than a head in the fridge," John mutters. "Mike..."

Mike Stamford raises an eyebrow before passing over the money to the barista.

"What is it?"

"I sometimes rue the day we ran into each and starting talking about flat sharing."

Mike chuckles. "I did warn you before introducing you to him."

"Now," Mike say as they amble down the hall. "he's an interesting bloke, I'll give you that."

"Any reason why you are playing the mystery card here?"

"No mystery card. Just kind of hard to describe him. Nothing I would say would prepare you for him."

"Not much of a warning," John mutters as he accepts the coffee, the cuppa heating up his cold hands.

"You had your opportunity to back out. That first meeting."

"I know."

"And you still showed up at 221B Baker Street."

John closes his eyes as the hot coffee goes down his throat. "Again, I know."

"Then got all wrapped up in a serial murder investigation." Mike grins. "Quite the life you're living now."

"Tell me about it," John says dryly. "Although I still don't know whether to curse you or thank you."

"I prefer a thank you."

"Well you're not getting one today."

"I'll live," Mike grins and then takes a drink. "So, I read your blog."

"Ah."

"He really doesn't know the earth goes round the sun?"

"He does now."

Mike shakes his head. "Hmm, maybe I should introduce him to my sister."

John starts. "What? Why? Do you want her to hate you?" He remembers Mike's sister, Carolina. The few times he met her, she reminded him of Harry.. without the drinking problem added on top.

Just opinonated, out spoken, blunt, and a bit spacey.

"Hmm... you're right. I shouldn't. Maybe you should have him and Harry meet."

"Harry suggested that."

"And?"

"If I have my way? Not a chance."

* * *

><p><strong>Same Day<strong>

**Location: St Barts**

**Time: 4 pm**

* * *

><p>John opens the door to the morgue, coming inside. Sherlock has a small notebook opened on an empty slab, writing on it.<p>

"Hello, John. Just a couple minutes, almost done writing my findings. Molly, what was the colour again?"

"Green," a quiet feminine voice says as John noticed Doctor Hooper coming out of a small office that's part of the morgue. He nods to her, but her attention as always is on Sherlock.

"Ah, thought it was it.. anyways, I'm done here," Sherlock looks over at her once, finishes writing whatever it was and then snaps shut his notebook. "I need to know the colours of the rest of them, so text me when they form."

"Listen, I was wondering-" John winces at the hesitancy of her words and watches as Sherlock does another glance at her as he puts on his long coat.

"I see you changed lipsticks," he comments.

"What?" She starts, blinking, then smiles shyly. John edges near the door, hoping to escape the soon to be very awkward moment that is seconds away... "Oh yes, I thought darker would be good. But I was wondering-"

"Should stick with the light colors, it suits you much better," Sherlock gives her a grin. "Afternoon," he calls out to her and strides past John just as he had opened the door and was about to leave.

John hurriedly nods to Molly Hooper, trying not to take in the bewildered expression she had and leaves, quickly catching up to Sherlock.

The few times John had been in the presence of Doctor Molly Hooper he felt awkward, seeing how the doctor crushed on Sherlock and how Sherlock obviously used it to his advantage.

"Let me guess, had coffee with Stamford?"

"And my last appointment," John adds.

"Don't know why you bothered. They obviously were not helping."

"Figured I'd see the rest of them through."

Sherlock smiles a little at that. "I thought as much. The principle, the moral thing to do I suppose."

"Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>March 15th, Day 44<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: Late Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John sorts through the letters, and raises his eyebrows at one postmark.<p>

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You have a letter."

The lanky man sulking on the sofa sighs. "Dull."

"From Saudi Arabia."

"Ah."

"Want me to open it?"

Another sigh. "Might as well. Probably boring though."

Maybe it'll be a case that you'll take instead of moping, John hopes as he opens it and begins to read.

"It's a request from the Prince." A Prince is asking Sherlock for help? What in the-?

"Which one? There are over four thousand of them."

"Prince Khalid bin Bandar bin Sultan al-Saud. That's a mouthful."

Another sigh. "What is he asking?"

"He has heard of your skills, your talent and your ability to work quickly. He requests your help in coming to Saudi Arabia to help find the Jaria diamond."

"I think I already have an answer for that."

John walks over and hands the letter to Sherlock. "Think it over."

"Must I?"

"You're the one that's been complaining about the lack of decent cases. Although you've been peppered with them lately. Including this one."

"I am bemoaning the lack of interesting challenging cases. Once again the the criminal class goes into hibernation leaving my brain to rot."

Oh god, not the rotting business again. Next thing that'll happen is he'll start going on about his brain being a hard drive or what not. John tunes him out when he starts on that.

"Just read it through and think it over. And don't say you already have."

Sherlock looks at him, appearing put out now. "You're in a mood."

"Because my flatmate in whinging."

Sherlock scowls at him, then John hears the door being knocked on. He turns to see Mrs Hudson.

"Having a domestic again, you too?" She asks.

"Sherlock's bored," John states.

"Oh poor dear. Well maybe there will be a nice murder soon, Sherlock," she says sympathetically. "One that's challenging. That should help."

"If only," Sherlock drawls.

"He's been offered a case."

"Oh? By who?"

"An idiot prince of Saudi Arabia, one of the many thousands who thinks his title means he can get what he wants," Sherlock says slapping the letter on the coffee table.

"I'm trying to tell him to think it over," John adds.

"He'll do it if it's interesting, that's all." She pats John's arm, and heads back downstairs.

John looks over the rest of the mail, only to be interrupted by his mobile ringing.

Harry.

He's already avoided four of her calls. Can't avoid this one. Besides it's either to talk to her, or try and talk to the man who's currently sulking like a five year who's had his favorite toy taken away.

This is going to be a long day.


	20. Chapter 20

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Nothing major shows up in this chapter.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Baker Street<strong>

**March 17th, Day 46**

**Time: 2 pm**

* * *

><p>John tosses the empty wrappers in the bin they pass, as Sherlock goes through the messages on his mobile, and then goes through the news. They had stopped at a small snack shop as John was feeling peckish for something sweet.<p>

"Dull, dull, dull, boring," the man mutters. "Husband must have done it..will have to text if they don't figure that out soon enough... no, no...now that is truly idiotic... no." Sherlock sighs and pockets his mobile. "The criminal class are not being very creative at the moment."

"You were offered the Jaria diamond case. Already said no to that?"

"I'm still contemplating it. I found a way to contact them by cell. Told them I need more data. Happy?" Sherlock grumbles. "Until I get it, I need something to keep me occupied. I'm not asking for much. I'm not even asking for a murder," He goes on, "just a clever criminal who can make things challenging. Is it really so much to ask-"

"Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock frowns and they both come to a stop and turn. Two boys coming running up, coming to a stop about two feet away from them. With their school things on them, John surmises they just finished for the day. He glances at his watch. Yup, about a half hour ago.

Both look about thirteen.

"I thought it was you!" The boy with blonde hair says as he tries to catch his breath. "You probably don't remember me but I'm Jacob Pettingham. We met-"

"November twentieth of last year," Sherlock interrupts. "One of your neighbors went missing. I spoke to you and your mother."

"Oh.. right, okay."

"Everything all right?" John asks him, and then glances at the other boy who has light brown hair and brown eyes.

"Not really," Jacob Pettingham admits, giving him a cursory look and then turns to Sherlock. "Mr Holmes, I need some help and when I saw you, I thought I'd ask you.. you'd be able to get it done the quickest."

"Oh?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow, his attention going from the other boy to Jacob.

"Yeah. I need it back by tomorrow night, otherwise Mum's going to kill me."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Central London<strong>

**March 18th, Day 47**

**Time: 2 pm**

* * *

><p>John steps outside, completely and utterly frustrated as he zips up his coat.<p>

"They said no, I take it?"

John starts, turning to his right to see Sherlock standing there. "I didn't see you."

"Course not, your head was down."

"Right. Yeah, they said no. What are you doing here? I was going to meet you at the Havershams actually."

"Got your text earlier," he explains. "Just finished meeting with Mrs Haversham truthfully."

John nods. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting to be a bit peckish, so I'm going to get something to eat."

"I know a good place just down the street."

"Are you taking the case she offered?"

He shakes his head as they walk. "Boring. Plenty of other people she can look up if she wants to waste their time."

"Ah, shame."

"On the other hand though I found Jacob Pettingham's bicycle. Just a matter of finding the right pawn shop."

"And you came to that conclusion-"

"When it disappeared it was in the location where ten different pawnbrokers had their place of business. Only six took in bicycles. I looked until I found the right one. I let Pettingham know, and also told him that he should ditch his friend Henry Hughes as he was the thief. Knew that the moment the boys had approached us."

Every now and then Sherlock surprises John in the manner of how he takes his cases. Mrs Haversham's case was about her grandson warrants no interest. Yet a school boy no older than thirteen, loses his bicycle when he went into a shop to by a snack, warrants it.

"He was quite pleased when I stopped by his flat. Just in time before his Mum returned from her holiday she took with her boyfriend."

And he returns the bicycle as well.

Just when John thinks he has the tall genius figured out, Sherlock does this. He wonders if he'll ever completely understand the man.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," John replies.

"You had a look."

"Just thinking."

"Hmm."

"So, you decided to find the bicycle even though you didn't seem interested?"

The boy spilled out the whole story, and to John, Sherlock didn't appear rather interested. Afterwards Sherlock just told the boy to come clean to his mother about being in a part of town she didn't approve of and then walked away, ending the conversation.

"I had time to spare."

"So that's it? Only reason you did it because you had time to spare?"

"I was in the area, I was bored, I had time to spare. Are you trying to go somewhere with this John?"

John refrains from smiling, knowing it'll just irritate his flatmate. "I don't know... first Stephenson... now Peckingam."

They come to a stop at a corner, and Sherlock goes to open a door. Obviously they were at the place he knew of.

"You come to some of the oddest conclusions."

John shrugs. "I didn't say it."

"I think you have a shade of paranoia in you Sherlock."

"If I do, it's well deserved."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**Date: March 19th, Day 48**

**Time: Afternoon**

* * *

><p>John lowers the volume on the telly as Sherlock answers his mobile, trying not to eavesdrop but of course hearing a few bits and pieces.<p>

It sounds like the Prince that offered Sherlock the Jaria diamond case will be in London in a couple of days.

"221B Baker Street," Sherlock says to him. "And do not bother offering financial incentives. Money will not motivate me into taking the case... Yes, even that much will not...Yes, let the Prince know that. What day will you be arriving?" Sherlock nods. "Well then, have a good day to you." He hangs up the cell and picks up the book he was reading before the call.

A psychology book this time.

"When will they be coming?"

"The twenty third."

"How much are they offering?" John asks curiously.

"It doesn't matter," he says dismissively. "Not the point."

"If it helps pay the gas board and everyone else wanting their money, it does."

"Boring," he murmurs flipping a page.

It's moments like these that has John wondering how Sherlock has survived on his own. Even with a past drug problem. If he didn't care about money, how did he pay for his rent? How did he pay for his clothes?

But yet, Sherlock has the air of a survivor. It's the eyes. There's a darkness in them, a darkness that Sally Donovan fears will lead to Sherlock being a killer.

John's not so sure about that. But he understands why Sgt Donovan thinks it. He's seen it in plent of the soldiers, marines, and other military personel.

"Your mind is going into overdrive."

"Just doing my usual. Thinking."

"You want to ask me something."

John finds himself wanting to ask Sherlock many things. He's done it quite a bit so far. He still can't believe he asked Sherlock about- well about his personal life in February. He considers it an aberration. He was just so thrown about Sherlock never fancying anyone when he was younger.

"You know, until I met you, I was never one to ask personal questions about how someone conducts their life."

"You and ninety nine percent of the rest of the U.K. Unless it is someone in the tabloids, then they are apparently fair game. Complete rubbish, and something I certainly do not need to know It's the Americans that are unbearably nosy, tabloid fodder or not."

"You need to take a look in a mirror, Sherlock."

"I am not nosy. I am inquisitive. I have a need to know things, because one day they may be pertinent to the case or a future situation. If I cannot get my answers from my deductions, then I ask my questions, which then confirms my deductions."

"Have you always been able..." John struggles how to word it properly. "Unusually perceptive and observant?"

"As far as I can recall. According to Mother, I started questioning things not long after I started started to reading and talking. When I was younger I used to get migraines however, so much information at once, and not able to understand all of it or process it properly, gave me frightful migraines. Made it hard to be in public places with lots of people."

John feels a pang of sympathy in that. While not able to imagine what it must be like to have your genius mind feeding you this information in a ruthless manner, it could still be hell for a child, his head hurting constantly because of it.

"I was taught how to calm down and breathe... that if it got all too much to just leave the room, go somewhere quiet, close my eyes and count to ten. Then when the clamoring stopped to just focus on what was demanding to be seen."

John flashes back to the drugs bust during the serial suicides case. When Sherlock was trying to figure out what to do next, and there was all this noise, distractions. Mrs Hudson asking about what the police were doing...

"Shut up everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak. don't breathe! I'm trying to think, Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

He didn't need to go to another room at the point, but he needed quiet. If only for a moment.

"School must have been hard."

"I was able to properly process,filter and focus on everything about a year before I started at Harrow," he says, not really answering the question. "Hello Mrs Hudson."

John look at the entrance to see Mrs Hudson about to knock.

"I was quiet going up those stairs," She says smiling fondly at Sherlock, and he grins.

"I caught your lovely scent."

She chuckles. "Ah. Sherlock dear, I hate to bother you with what you consider mindless trivia, but John has already paid his half-"

"Apologies, Mrs Hudson. There was a delay in the deposit." Sherlock waves to the coffee table, and Mrs Hudson comes further in. She picks up what John recognizes as Sherlock's half of the rent.

John almost forgot to pay on the fifteenth himself, when he had a morning run in with Mrs Hudson, who reminded him. Along with the special rate she was giving them, the lease had stated to have the rent paid on the fifteenth. She explained to John that Sherlock requested it on that day, saying he would be able to properly pay it at that time.

"Thank you dear. You should talk to the bank about that delay."

Sherlock mutters something under his breath, and John hears the name Mycroft. Mrs Hudson just ruffles Sherlock's hair then as if he's just a boy, causing him to roll his eyes, but give Mrs Hudson a smile before she leaves

"Have a good night you two," She calls out, shutting the door behind her.

"How is Mycroft responsible for you being late paying the rent?"

Sherlock looks over at John. "You're missing your show."

"I can catch a repeat of it later."

"As you wish," Sherlock turns back to his book. After a couple minutes of silence, John figures Sherlock isn't going to answer him on this, when he speaks.

"He has guardianship of my trust fund, which is how my current account is funded."

The words are said with a resentment that Mycroft mentioned is in Sherlock towards his brother.

Childish feud?

John's not so sure if he would label it that.

"Ah." Another question crops up then. Why does he need a flatmate then if he has a trust fund? It fits with his attitude about money in general, as well as not caring to be paid for his work.

"Mother used to be. She turned control of it over to him.. almost five years now. It'll be five in September," he continues. "I only get so much per month... enough to pay my half of the rent, my clothes and indulge in my interests when I can."

"And if you run out before the next deposit?"

"I run out and have to wait. It's that or go to _Mycroft_," Sherlock's tone indicates how he feels about _that_. "I ran short a whole three weeks before the next deposit, and I have to say I enjoyed the challenge on how to go about those three weeks."

"A little tough though..."

"I dealt with tougher. In a way this is marginally better than having my account frozen and having no money at all. Which happened several times. And no, I am not going to elaborate, as you already know the answer to why that is."

Yes, John does. And he won't get more on that until he's ready to share.

But now John can see why money does not matter much to Sherlock. He grew up with it, (obviously), at times had none at all, and now deals with only having a restricted amount. He's learned to live and survive without and having only a little.. somehow finding a way to survive if he runs out beforehand.

"I am hearing the wheels spinning in your head, John."

"You make that happen."

Sherlock grins, his attention not moving from the book. But John can see he's smugly satisfied with that remark. "I do try," he murmurs. "Now watch your telly, I would like to finish this."


	21. Chapter 21

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Author's Note: Last Chapter. Epilogue will be next.**

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Outside of 221B Baker Street<strong>

**March 21st Day 50**

**Time: Noon**

* * *

><p>"Harry, I don't feel up for a chat."<p>

"Shouldn't have answered then," She says in a sour tone. "So you're stuck now. I suppose you can only ignore my calls for so long before you feel like you should take one."

She's already starting. John takes a deep breath. "How are you?"

"Fine," he can hear the lie as clear as day.

"You sound it."

"Don't you start."

"Sorry, not trying to start anything," John murmurs.

She goes quiet for a minute. "How are you?"

"Fine," John echoes her lie.

"Liar. Let me guess, your flatmate gone round the bend?"

Close to it...

"No." John doesn't elaborate.

"I think you should come and visit."

"Haven't a car, nor the money to pay the fare."

"I'll pay it."

"Not now, Harry." John shifts against the wall. He didn't want to go inside. Not yet. He wanted to delay that as much as possible.

His flatmates experiments were not distracting him. No books were distracting him. He got another call from the personal assistant of the Prince...

John was trying to avoid a very ill tempered flatmate.

No cases.

Nothing to distract him.

Even dear Mrs Hudson was avoiding him.

All John could do was hope that when the Prince came to talk to Sherlock, he would have had a case recently, and be in a good mood.

And there's only today and tomorrow for that to happen.

"Is everything okay, John? Seriously?"

"What? Yeah, everything's fine. I said that earlier."

"You sound off."

"No I don't."

"To me you do."

"Not now Harry."

"I'm telling you that you need to come visit. I miss you."

Right. John knows what that means.

"You know what happens whenever we visit." John remembers their last few meetings. The one that sticks out the most was years ago when he announced he joined the army.

She refused to speak to him to him until a week before he left for Afghanistan, and that was because John came to see her.

The last time they saw each other was a week after he was discharged. It was civil for five minutes before it downgraded to it's usual pattern.

With all their problems, John wonders why the hell she gave him her mobile to stay in touch. Perhaps to make calls like these just to get at him?

He'll never understand his sister.

"If you just stopped-"

"I won't," John interrupts. "I'm your brother. We don't get on, but that is something I would never stop having a go with you about." He pauses. "Besides, Mum and Dad are dead, I'd like to keep my only family alive, what is there of it."

Silence. And then John hears it. The sound of something being poured in a glass.

Right there is her answer why he won't come visit. Yet she refuses to see it.

The next words out of her mouth make him end the call, turn off his mobile, and take a long walk.

* * *

><p><strong>March 22th, Day 51<strong>

**Location: Somewhere on Victoria Street**

**Time: Afternoon**

* * *

><p>First, John was happy that a case came Sherlock's way. Very happy.<p>

It was a small one. But it was enough to get Sherlock out of his foul mood, one that was really building. It was almost worse than the last one. John caught him staring at a spot on the floorboards one night, when he came downstairs to use the toilet. He didn't ask him what was wrong then, just went about his business and went back to bed.

Luckily, today for right now, the mood was gone. A case. One that Sherlock gladly took, most likely as a distraction.

John didn't care. It distracted him from his last chat with his sister, and of course prevented him from listening to what was either vodka soaked apologies or condemnations on his voice-mail.

However now, they were in a bit of a bind.

First thing, the case was about a stolen necklace.

Sherlock was asked to find out who stole a necklace. A very pricey necklace. A necklace that was the pride and joy of the shop.

And how.

Since it was in a locked glass case, in a room that has a lot of frequent visitors. The cameras caught nothing. No one had any idea how the thief got the necklace, nor who the thief was, and how they avoided the cameras.

The owner of the small expensive jewelery shop couldn't afford the bad publicity if they went to police. Another situation similar to Stacia Desmond with her stalker. Go to the police, media finds out. In this case, the owner was sure that the media coverage of it would sink her.

Sherlock revealed it to be an inside job, the moment he showed the cameras were on a delayed loop, replaying twenty seconds over and over. Also that key had obviously been used, but put back in the wrong spot.

And somehow all of that was done without the two security guards noticing. With the glare that the two guards received, John figured two someones would be joining him in the unemployment line.

After a couple hours, and John pretty much being the sounding board as Sherlock bounces of ideas and theories, (Which is pretty much the routine, which he honestly doesn't mind.. it's kind of nice to know that, it helps when he gets rather irritated with Sherlock) Sherlock figured out who it was.

An employee, like he stated would be.

An employee that turned out to have had an affair with her boss. The one that asked for Sherlock's help.

An employee who decided that she didn't care for her boss ending the affair and chose this manner as to resign from said job. And according to the texts on her cell that she stupidly left behind, was going to be meeting with a fence.

An employee who decided that she didn't want Sherlock and John to chase after her, and found a way to circumvent that.

With the almost six foot body builder blocking their path, thinking that her cries for help were genuine.

"We were not harassing her," Sherlock says irritably. "She's a thief."

"Got proof of that?"

"Yes, but not with me. Just move out the way!"

"I'm not going anywhere."

John sighs. If she ends up getting to her fence in time, (which the meet will be in twenty minutes) the necklace will be lost, and Sherlock won't be easy to live with for the next couple days.

Desperation and adrenalin was fueling John. A rather idiotic maneuver planted itself in his head, and he was desperate enough to do it. Anything really, to avoid another round of living with Sherlock in a foul state so quickly after the last one, which he just got over. John can handle them if the black moods are spaced apart.

John barely heard the argument building between Sherlock and the bodybuilder as he came to his decision. And just in time too as it looks like the bodybuilder is about to take a swing at Sherlock.

"Hey, look at that!" John points past the man desperately, acting shocked.

"What?" The idiot (As Sherlock would say) falls for it, and John takes aim, hitting the man square in the jaw.

He goes down quickly, and John surmises with a little surprise, the bodybuilder has a glass jaw.

"What-" Sherlock starts, but John grabs his arm.

"Come on, she has a five minute head start, lets go," John pushes him forward and after a second, Sherlock starts running and John's right behind him.

"I know a shortcut," Sherlock states, and turns right.

Of course he does.

* * *

><p><strong>Fifteen Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"You ruined everything you infuriating-"<p>

John and Sherlock ignore the Diane Tate's furious insults being slung at them, as Sherlock recovers the necklace from the bag she has, and John calls the owner of the shop to let them know they have it.

"Call Sgt Walker of the Robbery Unit," Sherlock says, telling John the number after he ends the call with the owner. "Tell him to meet us at the shop, we have prevented a major theft." Sherlock turns to the woman. "And will you shut up. For someone who has some intelligence, regarding how you plotted to steal this necklace, you are being an incredible idiot right now. So kindly use your intelligence for something useful: Being quiet."

She scowls at him, and Sherlock holds up a finger.

"Not one word. Or I will gag you."

"He'll do it too," John puts in. "Although you should let me take a look at your ankle," he adds, dialing the number to the Robbery Unit. The main reason she didn't make her meet with her fence was that she panicked when she saw how fast Sherlock and John had caught up, and misjudged a jump she had to make over a wall that was two feet higher than her and hurt her ankle.

"Let him have a look at that, he is a doctor," Sherlock adds. "Although your injury is your own fault. If you had used that crate, you may have made it. But you let yourself panic. I have to say I am disappointed in that."

"Oh, piss off!"

"Now, did I not say something about gagging you if you said another word?"

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Later<strong>

* * *

><p>John nods to Sgt Walker, who finishes taking his statement. He decided to be the one to give it, sparing him from having to deal with Sherlock.<p>

Speaking of him, who was currently returning the necklace to the owner. Out of sight from the Sgt, who was told a very edited version of events of what happened by said owner.

And said owner made a deal with the employee that he would only press minor charges to stick with the story he gave, as she could very well spill about the affair they had.

Anything to avoid the publicity. At least this way, it would eventually only be a minor article in the paper, instead of a full on scandal.

John finds that he's not bothered by all of this much. He dealt with a lot of editing of events in Afghanistan. This was minor. She didn't kill anyone, she was just lashing out at the man that ended their affair, hurting him the best way she could think of.

He wonders if he should be bothered by it.

Bothered by deceiving the police. By the deal made between the owner and Diane Tate.

He should be. The man he was ten years ago would be. Six years ago even. He still has his principles, his morals...his perception of what is right, wrong, just, unjust...

He has them. They are not gone.

He just knows that somehow, deep down, they've changed a little.

Joining the army, going to Afghanistan definitely caused some of the changes. Also, perhaps his time with Sherlock has also caused that.

John hears a door open and he looks over to see Sherlock coming out, quite pleased with himself.

He'll have to mull over this later.

"Hungry? I imagine that running has caused you to be."

"A little. And I'm sure you know a place nearby."

"Of course."

John doesn't bother to ask if the owner paid. Most likely not. If anything, he offered Sherlock either a discount of his wares, or something else.

"How's the hand?"

John looks over at Sherlock, a little confused. "Pardon?"

"Your hand. You delivered quite the punch."

"Not very hard. Glass jaw, and it's fine."

"Hmm," amusement flickers over Sherlock's features.

"What is it?"

"I thought that only worked in movies and telly."

"Thought what worked?"

"The whole point and yell 'Look!' distraction."

John grins. "Apparently it works in real life too."

Sherlock laughs. "Apparently so."


	22. Chapter 22

**Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes**

**Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama**

**Rating: Nothing major shows up in this chapter, except slight spoilers for TBB.**

**Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.**

**Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.**

**Word Count: 882**

**Author's Note: Okay, a couple things to put down, before you read the final piece of A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes. It's a little long, so bear with me, and then enjoy the epilogue.**

**Number 1: Welcome to the to epilogue, the end of the ride. The last 21 chapters you've read John's experience of living with Sherlock for the first 51 days. Quite the ride it has been, for John, hasn't it? Heh. Anyways, we know what happened on the 23rd of March. It's the beginning of The Blind Banker. Well, sort of the beginning. We just didn't see a certain part of it. Here's the epilogue, from Sherlock's POV.**

**Number 2: I want to thank everyone who has read this story. I certainly hope everyone who has come here has enjoyed it. As for the compliments, comments, and feedback I greatly appreciated it, it certainly inspires me to continue writing (not that I am without inspiration, this show has provided so much!) and it helps feed my writing frenzies, when I write multiple chapters in one go, and then take a bit to go over them.**

**And number 3: My other chapter length story- A Scandal In Belgravia-A Different Take, is the next 'Chapter' so to speak in the lives of Sherlock and John. A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes is my prequel, and then of course lovely season 1, and A Scandal In Belgravia will be my own fanon take on season 2. I will then write my own fanon take of The Hounds Of Baskerville and Reichenbach Falls the other two episodes that will be part of season 2. Technically this is an AU series, even though season 2 has not aired yet. And I know what I'm writing would not be canon. Heh. So all my chapter fics are going to be from my "A Different Take" Universe. My stand alones are not part of the universe.**

**Okay, so that was rather long and I do apologize. So, here we go, my final installment to A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes.**

**Oh yes, and to add because I just noticed the questions in the reviews:**

**To Liena- The drug use and Afghanistan will come up in the series A Scandal In Belgravia, The Hounds of Baskerville, and Reichenbach Falls.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: Afternoon**

**Date: March 23rd, 2010**

* * *

><p>Sherlock glances over the top of his book, noticing John is once more grumbling about the lack of food. He looks at the clock.<p>

He received a call earlier this morning. Prince Khalid, according to the personal assistant that spoke over the line, is unable to come meet with him at his flat. So he is coming to personally speak with Sherlock about the Jaria diamond.

Frankly, Sherlock had no particular interest in the case. He's only agreed to all of this to stop John's grumbling.

His mind is made up, but to appease John, he will listen. And then he will decline.

"How is it we through so much milk?" John bursts out, sounding quite exasperated.

"No idea," Sherlock says blandly, keeping his attention on the book. He hopes John goes shopping. In case the meeting gets tense with Sherlock's refusal, he would like to keep John out of it.

He hears cabinet doors slap shut and a couple more of John's grumbles.

"Going out," John calls as he puts on his coat. "Need food."

"I gathered that."

He feels a stare directed at him, and Sherlock knows John is irritated with him. Of course his mood could also be affected by the many voice-mails that he has noticed his sister left on his mobile. But Sherlock supposes that tripping over a stack of books in the early morning and now the lack of food has added on to it.

Sherlock personally doesn't see the issue really with the shopping. He survived just fine on his own with meals at establishments, and he disliked the shopping anyways. Too mundane. Boring. That is why he was quite pleased John took upon himself to do the shopping.

He hears a door slam shut, another sign of John's annoyance. Not a vicious slam, but just a quick slam.

The time ticks by, and then hears the doorbell. Ah, his guest.

He hears Mrs Hudson go to the door.

Twenty Minutes Later

Cold brown eyes stare back at him.

He is not happy with Sherlock's refusal. He had listened to the man, somewhat, when he explained the situation.

It's quite obvious what happened with diamond. The answer is boring. Just like he thought. The Prince would realize it too, if he opened his eyes and actually used his brain to think.

"We came all this way, Mr Holmes," Ahmeed Al-Fakeeh says in a clipped, thick Middle Eastern accent. "The Prince was hoping you could help."

"You did not come all the way to London just to seek my help. He had other matters that brought him here," Sherlock counters. "I am sure he will live with my refusal. I see no need for my assistance."

"I see. Well then there is no need for me to stay. Thank you for your time." Sherlock does not move from his seat, knowing he was being rude, but not caring. He nods shortly to the man, and picks his book back up as he starts to leave.

He hears a mobile ring, but it is not his. He looks over at the personal assistant who is answering his phone, speaking in Arabic. Ahmeed Al-Fakeeh's tone, the way he straightens even more so, he is speaking with the Prince.

Sherlock winces at the sharpness of the Arabic language. It is not a language that is smooth on the ears.

The call ends and Sherlock looks at the clock once more. John should nearly be done. Unless he ends up having another row with the chip and pin machine. If so, then there is between twelve to fifteen minutes left.

"Mr Holmes."

Sherlock looks back at the personal assistant. There is.. a gleam in the man's eyes.

Now what is this?

"Yes?"

"The Prince says he is very disappointed, something he hates."

"Pity."

"He apologizes for taking up your time. And he does ask since this is a sensitive manner, this not be spoken about."

"Of course." Sherlock is trying to figure out if he is be warned, or if he will be warned soon enough. Obviously the Prince is not used to being told.. Sherlock knows some sort of answer to that will be coming soon. What Ahmeed Al-Fakeeh is doing is just window dressing.

The personal assistant nods, turns and heads back down the stairs. Sherlock snaps his book shut, his mind now whirling as he now has to think about whatever retribution the Prince may send.

He gets up from his chair, and paces the length of the sitting room.

After a few times, he then catches a sharp glint. Like what you see if the sun hits the knife just right...

Oh.

_Ohhhh._

_Well this is a rather stupid move. To show your hand now? How disappointing._

Sherlock whirls around, his mind processing the next few seconds quickly and he ducks the blade the misses his head by a couple inches.

Sherlock spins around and balances on the balls of his feet, as the retribution with the sword takes his stance.

He has only ten minutes to take care of this nuisance before John comes home.

**THE END**

**(well sort of)**

_To continue reading the new adventures and deepening bond of friendship forged by fire between John and Sherlock, move forward to A Scandal In Belgravia._

_As always, feedback is more than welcome and greatly appreciated.  
><em>


End file.
